Memory Tower
by CrystalRhodes
Summary: In a sultry city of black, a boy of 14 waits in Jadiack city for a sign, something to explain his drastic memory loss of every year. But when a myertious silver bird encounters him, the Department of Annoh on his trail, and Johto on the horizon, ? arises.
1. Pillar I: Jadiack's Clash

A/N: Whoa, I actually posted it. It seems I WAS gonna wait until I had about five chpters done before posting it anywhere, but three's enough I think. I've gotten very attached to this story lately since it's the second remake of this horrible one-paragraph-per-chapter fanfic I made when I was nine. It had absolutely zero character development and plot, and I stopped at chapter 6. It did, however, inspire me to make a remake when I was older that got wiped from my hard drive at about 14 chapters. So I took a year or so before writing this to actually develop a convincing set of characters and a plot for my story, so I'm pretty confident this will be the last remix.

It's pretty dark for the first couple of chapters (the first three to be exact) and pokemon are only easily recognized during the fourth chapter. There ARE pokemon in the first three chapters, however, and I'm sure you'll all recognize them. Just don't expect them to be mentioned casually until the fourth chapter exactly. Hope you enjoy.

Memory Tower:

Pillar I: Jadiack's Clash

Another blast of rushing wind quickly bombarded the dark buildings of my old faraway city. The leaves blowing whimsically along their skyscrapers peaks in lovely delight as the swirling midnight sky reflected their beauty in a barrage of shimmering gems. The place was a striking sight, its platinum windows reflecting off a cerulean blanket of buzzing life along their darkened asphalt, shrouded in pale light being exuded from the young billboards flashing in every direction. Within all the midst of this excitement was my pair of curious eyes peering out of a raggedly armored apartment overlooking every sight.

" Jadiack City " I said dimly to myself watching all others activity in a searing mist let off by the mechanics below. "A little real." I stepped back from my daily trite at the window and sat down on a rough chair, pondering what's left, as always. I lived in a pretty drably place, all the walls and ceilings caressed with an auburn coat, but offset by a few joyous pictures of happy creeks, and forests, never really portending to my taste though. I had been in this place for as long as I can remember, forsaken like a small indent of humanity washed away by forgotten memories.

Just like me.

So painfully like me.

My wrinkled red tee shirt waved in symphony of the upcoming wind, flowing the locks of my earthly brown hair (ruffled and shaken in every direction and falling down by my shoulders) that quickly scattered along my pale white skin, and ultramarine blue eyes glowing in the glisten of moonlight. Wavy green cargo pants protected my legs from the shivering cold, but surely the elegant black sneakers I had picked up along my expressed the still active link I had with mainstream society.

A mere bed accompanied while I lay still in deep thought, pondering over and over the question that kept hitting me over and over. Why can't I feel free? Why can't I feel happy? Sure, I've felt happy here before, but it's nothing tangible. Nothing I can taste, and spread throughout all of my self. It's just an empty feeling, a flat emotion. And yet, I've learned to bear. Live, experience, relive, and forget. The basic concept of life here, anyway. To live in a veil of watery rifts stroked with remembrance and loss constantly overlapping.

I'm not exactly sure when I got here. Ten years, ten and a half? Every year here seems forgotten. I only realize who I am, and after every excursion I seem to be wallowing within this room. It's so strange, I never feel like I've grown in any way, and yet, I've managed to be here long enough to familiarize myself with this raged room. I always ell myself, this is my home; I must've been living here for so long. And yet, it never quite feels like a home, more like a place I just can't stop visiting, as if there's something beyond this platinum town. All I remember since I've been here is this pale body etched with sorrows and limited world beyond my bedside window.

But deep within me, I believe there's a place I can be somewhere else. I don't really feel sad here, just empty. There must be a different world out there, just ripe for the picking, having luscious fulfillment with dreams just waiting to unfurl. Yes, that's it. A place where I can feel home. But behind all the impossible inquiry's I've come to develop, just one unfathomable bind seems to slip through my fingers.

That thing.

That beast I just can't just tame. I've chased it all my life, wishing it could reveal it's shrouded mysteries. The thing I can't see no matter how much I rack my brain for answers. That relic that I know lies within me, but just can't get out.

I get up, and stand gazing into the threshold of the high life yet again, everything flowing in equal anticipation through the brick iron opening. So corrupt, yet complete all at the same thing.

I feel like I could never forget it, yet what it really is escapes me.

It's always confused me, sought me, and sent me spiraling into a world of discontent without reason. It's not whatever bumbling mistakes I've made in the past years of my forgotten life. It's that world that lies too far away, taunting me with imagining blurs. Collages of municipal color all tied together with my own fantasies. An ever so dazzling diamond stroke, coupled with an ivory satin green swirling in unbelievable motions, a versatile blue ball fluttering along all the chaos from the fairy green's tip, and exhibiting an abnormal vibration of a twiddling rainbow aura, soon all collapsing in my mind.

I lifted my view from the exuding window and over to my light brown messenger bag with the strip tied around my back and opening for convenient use. I usually used it for my daily travels along forty-second, scavenging what was left from the demolition of the old Sandres Place , and working secretly for the famous consumer, Bradford, slyly stealing my pay from their private stores. I still believe I have some sort of virtue within me, though I can never deny a pay raise. As I found my weak stomach's desires, I had always come to pass their rating mansion. And as if in a twist of fate, there was a tattered notebook I had come across in my now average exploration.

Its pages danced in a wither chapped fortune as another barrage of wind invaded, and the cool breeze of mid-autumn evening entered with a fragrance of dabbled rosemary and a pinch ginger blowing across a barren wasteland of devoid property. I breathed the heavy scents in with a huff, and stopped the cascading waterfall of pages from the fairly average notebook with a dull reaction form my palm, and took out a sharp rake of blue, green, and other multi-colored pens.

In a silent daze, I scratched the tips against the smooth, vanilla parchment with robust vision, compromising my thoughts into a drawn image of complicated measures. Drawing always calmed my mind whenever anything felt out of sync. Unfortunately, these feelings weren't as far in between, and so my notebook was filled with drawings upon drawings often accompanied by a bunch of scribbled paragraphs that seemed to go on for ages, describing my every thought, my every worry, and every philosophy. The notebook served to that purpose. I kept all my thoughts, dreams, and hopes, in one place so I could look back and continue to strive for something better. The picture had come to fruition, and a thousand blurry colors mixed and whole seemed to dive and resurface out of the imperial pool of misunderstanding.

I see so many palettes, with so many objects out of place. Like a clash of entities, all battling to express a single message but all being shoved to the side by each other's ignorance. It just looks so wrong. Feels wrong too. Carved in misguided mirth, oh so scattered in confusion. No sense is made of it; it's just there for no reason. Like me, just there. Unable to thrive in a plain of life not meant for one catalyst soul such as it, or I. Presently, I shuffled my feet up on the floor, and shunned away from the stress filled image implementing itself into my daily life yet again.

Outside my abode, I lazily glazed the pearly white stars, hoping, perhaps on just a simple wish, something would happen. Out of my sight for the moment, a black silhouette flew mysteriously around my city spiked wings of sheathed metal. After hearing a horrific scratch against my brick, I went pushing my head out to face another onrush of air booms, and seeing it fly with such spark in immediate grace, jumping and gliding between the clear plateaus of metal, widening its curved spine, and showing off it being coated with a shiny link of rectangular slabs. But it was still shrouded in the shadows of night, light only shedding the outline of this miraculous creature by the stars. But nothing excited me now. It was just a random bird, bigger than usual, foolishly looking like a mechanical by mere trick of the moonlight and off on a clumsy rampage. I began to shut down the upper shield of its framed structure, when something more powerful than wind passed me by.

The bird flew again by my windowsill. I caught a glimpse this time as it just barely scratched the surface of my stonework. It had a face of iron, and a beak of some sharp substance darker than the metal before. A bird, doused with metal? An abnormal hawk, or eagle, melded around steel and living to soar the skies?! But how? In a frozen moment of time, I lost the chance to speculate more as it bombarded past my glazed eyes once again, revealing a thick flake of iron that had scatted off its hide in my direction, with the under side of such a window just pulled. 

I blanked out as the scorched slab spiraled towards me at blistering speed, just certainly whizzing along in my direction. It had a certain essence about it as it came nearer, and I hadn't noticed I already backed off into the front encirclement of the room where all the tiles danced around. I felt the pulsing sense of mystery as if my medium had finally opened its third eye.

The slab scarcely missed myself, and pinned itself sharply along the framework of my wooden cottage on the opposite wall of mine. I pushed the slight thatch of hair reappearing in front of my forehead to the side, and slowly, I walked in a dysfunctional limp over near the slab and out of the vicinity now scattered with the many shattered pieces of glass over the field of the outside window. But with a slightly more eager manner, I stumble over to the flake only feet away from its crisp entry into the wood. I simply sought answers as I gazed upon its shocking being, when I suddenly realized the bird might be out again. I scrambled back to the portal, crunching miniscule pangs of glass in my wake, eagerly yearning for that same manifestation of darkness to explore the skyscrapers.

I was hoping for another glimpse but there was nothing more but a few forsaken leaves fluttering amongst over powering airlift. A dash of befuddled thoughts came rushing into my mind. What was this 'metal bird'? Maybe it never was, even I did swear to see it just a few moments ago. Maybe, this is the after product of losing so many memories-the act of foolishly creating your own. Presently, the mere mentions of delusion crossed into my plain of thought, and I sought to rub my frozen arms in a stolid stance, wondering if you really could realize if you'd gone insane or not. Maybe you would think that everything's normal, and not the real aspect of ludicrous society once would have seen through the rose tinted glasses of a maniac. I kept saying to myself "I've adapted to the cold, the wind just doesn't feel as strong."

Maybe, the wildness of my burning imagination combating the true feeling of reality has kept me warm with an ember of pseudo-life. Or maybe, I've just forgotten the worldly feeling of temperature control, and I'm living in my own safeguard of emotions oh so far from the rest! Could it happen! Could it? These thoughts grew achingly within me as I grabbed my throbbing head in the response to the waves of inhumane worries crashing against my skull, leaning over to avoid the clear chips of glass threatening to impale my soles.

My eyes writhed with stress as I felt more pain again, that there is no metal bird. I'm just being crazy again and abandoned by my fantasies at the moment. Once it returns, I'll feel better. I'm just suffering-suffering from a withdrawal of my daily trite. If I just stay here it will be back. But, it's not real. I'll always be like this, stuck in ball of meshed up borderlines with me sitting and waiting for something that's not gonna happen. But, why can't it be real? Why not? " It's not," I quietly whispered out to myself in a burst of unrelenting sadness, as I had lain slumped up near the side of the wall with my fist presently being imprinted on the front layer of my fantasies wall.

A note of rest in silence danced over the space in between me and the other side of my home. I could only hear the whistles blow from the cross-guard making his nightly dues at such an hour. I kept my arms clenched around my fetal legs and my head low in a position of anguish at my own existence.

But at the other side a mute ringing began to form within the forgotten slab of metal stuck within the wall, vibrating at a slow pace at first, but increasing to a ravage shake from side to side. It peaked my interest as I heard it's rampant shaking, and my ears decided to listen closely to its bewitching motions. But strangely, the mute sound grew into a dim lull of stinging noise, not hearable to me at the time. The note grew larger and larger however, and I've gotten notice of it now. After lifting my head from humiliating pose- on order by the lulls command- I just stared at it now. As I keep watching, it became a showdown now between a ravaging iron and a broken soul.

I could see it try to do something, but the effort was just too much. The more I watched; the more sense it made for me to get back up. After brushing off the ledges of my pant legs, I dragged my feet over to spinning metal, completely wary of the impossible circumstance of it flying off of it's hinges. With every small beat, it began to give me hope. I didn't know what it was, or what was happening now, but I did see it giving me something to do. I saw it giving me another reason to keep going through these many plains of consciousness.

But I still felt so scared. This could all be another figment of my imagination, and as I began to feel the smooth, icy surface of the slab in ravage, I cringed with the thought it was somehow cursed by own will in some twisted conundrum in which I gave up hope; hope of anything. But as I felt it more, the need to give way started to fade. I began to burn all my impending doubts, making a blaze of determination and I thought to grip the iron with more force than usual. I felt that maelstrom within me uproar into a flurry of embers, and at that time I already stopped the slab from shaking with both hands.

But I stopped for an instance in decision. Should I? I might not want too. It might be so much easier to simply run the cool blade through my hands and feel the stinging pain that I've seem to have always known throughout my pseudo years. "Perhaps, it's meant to be." I said to my self in silent distress. I lightly loosened the grip a bit while I slipped out of that phase of such ferocious confidence. "But." But what? To just think of it, rightfully groping along for the sharp edge. To forget about all my futures and worries. To forget.. I suddenly uprooted myself esteem and locked my hands around the slab once more.

"To forget..." I murmured in a dark tone with my eyes shrouded in shadows, the streetlights now flickering on upon the home front of the city in recognition. Anyone could forget. Anyone cold say there's nothing more beyond my window and keep on living behind a befuddled wall of fear. Would I stoop to such measures? Would I decide to seal myself into a world of constant questions and disappointing answers? "Never." I remarked coolly to myself in a stampede of pure rally, and with one swift grunt, I unleashed the slab from the wooden carcass and jammed it forward, making it fly like a boomerang outside the window's broken hole and upwards into the darkened sky. 

Presently, I took a second to realize the deed I had just committed. With a small eagerness power walk-turning into a run now-I gazed out to see that the steelwork had still been twirling up and around into the deeply night sky. I began to turn my back and wonder how did I seem to catapult that slab so much out into the sky, and still have it running? But of course, I declared my incredible awesomeness propelled the inhumane thrust as usual. Yes, of course.

I leaned back against the framework of the window in an angst post and a wicked smile creeping across me as I continued my self-congratulating of the ever so obvious success. But I ended a little too quickly as I whirled around and back outside to look again for the slab in a shocked motion. I just remembered that maybe, or not, a certain steel sheltered silhouette would be attracted to locate it's lost member. With every streetlight on now, it should definitely be seen now, I thought to myself. Now, I had proof.

I waited for what seemed like an eternity. If that bird doesn't come, I thought it might be undeniable reason that I..should, being in here too long to remember actual life. I vowed I would; give up for real if it happened, no matter the circumstance. But I never seemed to mull over the consequences as then, a blitzing spike of silver shine came charging into the airspace above the clamp now right above my own eyes. It shone with brilliance unrivaled by anything I had ever seen! It unleashed its magnificent wing stretching from its left side and had it accompanied by such a rich coat of teardrop shaped slabs that I almost gasped in admiration! I watched in awe as the mechanical slab magically floated over with gusto into the safe haven of the miraculous creatures on stretched wings.

I could've never felt more astonished. Those flailing feathers, the expansible wings! Maybe-for the shortest moment-touch its brilliance, oh so I hoped. I started to tremble as my meager arm slid over through the ranks of wind protecting the iron marvel in that short glimpse of time, and within a fabulous ecstasy, the sublime mystic color of when I brushed the tips of my finger against it's back tail flushed upon me in an immediate bounce of joy. But within a seemingly planned motion of action, the fowl swished itself to the side in mid-air and zoomed off forward, deeper into the engulfing light of the city.

It seemed like I didn't really react, as much I flowed. Before I realized, my body had already sensed what to do. That creature, that beautiful, beautiful creature, I mustn't let it go away! I found myself grabbing my flowing crimson raincoat for warmth in a high of satisfaction as I greedily thrust open my own door and began to make a powerful sprint to the main square of the city, rushing through crowds of minorities, where all public domain resided near the harbor. I felt my heart beat with a new rhythm as I cringed in pride, masterfully dodging throughout the oncoming wave of people selecting their location. It was almost like; this new wonder placed something worth getting excited about.

As I dodged, and darted throughout the score of melancholy dispositions, it was almost like I had been renewed in a basking aura of simplicity that the sky gazer had bestowed me. A feeling of pure glee, a symbol of what I've longed for, for so long; happiness. I managed to get near the center of town before I saw the steel denizen make a sharp glance at my self-overlooking the square atop a sinister black tower laden with mirroring reflections of the colorful surroundings below it. But if like magic, it withdrew a few paces backwards and retreated back into dark sky.

It won't be getting away, I thought. Quickly, I shifted direction, and started a massive burst of speed through the street way, ignoring the bright flashes of yellow, red and orange from the looming mechanicals above me in their frail attempt to give them my attention. A deep crimson red motorcycle grazed the side of my shoe as I eagerly made a Jay Walk into the streets. I should've been afraid of that; I should've been worrying about cleaning that jacket before going out. But I wasn't going to then. That thing was now more important to me than anything else I could think of. After crossing the befuddled masses, I noticed a small whirlwind off to my right near the business district, and a cone of dust around an invisible force. With great action, I changed direction to my right and off into the cybernetic building bathed in a glow of neon green lines traveling from skyscraper to skyscraper. I quickly guided myself beyond the bleak sidewalks and through another barrage of suited businessmen in much hurry as I, and them had very important things to do. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath near a small brush and tree fixated near one of the many stoops. Everything was just too massive to search for such an entity.

Surely, I thought, this place's valiant strokes of color in the wind should be able to unmask it. I looked up, and saw nothing but more greenish-black. The massive pillars had already hid whatever light was beyond the horizon, and the neon wasn't enough.. But with that, a pinch brilliance hit me again as I limped over in exhaustion to the rear of one of the skyscrapers I was closest to, and scanned the rusted fire escape stair case up to the ceiling of the town, and roof of the building.

In another length of anticipation, I staggered over and up the rusted steps, and landed gently upon the elevated top of the electronic mass. I overlooked the rest of the city before really searching for it. It had such a sinister glow, with each district marked in a different colour combining with green, purple, yellow, and red. It was in it's top invert of the technologic age, and everything had a stream of bright commercials overlapping, and disguising the ancient lies and betrayals having been took place so long ago, so deep in the idea that such maniacal behavior has only just affected the city in it's recent rebirth. But I no longer cared about that anymore. I didn't care about anything regarding this messed up city anymore. All I cared about was now. I turn around in a rage of ignorance towards that neon, and turn my attention over to the fluttering light of the empty harbor on the isolated section of Jadiack town.

Boats never came into their docks, and no one ever left them. It was a cynical trap of unsure origination, but no longing for any solution. No one ever came, no one ever went. There had only been forgotten woodwork and abandoned ships still lying dormant around the place of forsaken wonder. I stood up in an upright position with a now renewed strength, and I try to relocate that mythic once again, and for good this time.

I don't see anything, besides than night. But then I see it! Scouring the boat sides! It just so happened to be walking around the outside of a ship, near it's redder underside. The thing shone out from the darkness simply in an opening of white blurs reflecting off its wing in some magical way. I could see the under feathers of it's fiery red sheath too. I just had to get down there before it left! In a woeful distress, I scramble down the encampment of rust in a vicious attempt to sacrifice class for more agility. After bumping my leg hard on the armored footsteps, I stopped for a wince of pain, but still manage to glide over to the outer bank of the harbor, oh so close to the mesmerizing waves galloping over that sandy beach.

The mechanical starkly glanced over to me (in preferable wreck from all the outrage I had gone through to catch it) through it's scintillating, red eyes. I huffed and puffed within an uncomfortable circumstance as the two of us shared a leer of ritualistic break. But the moment passed, and I slowly started to trail towards the creature in a soft whim of my own content. It seemed to be calm and collected as I wandered further, and allowed me to get closer to the boat, and eventually around it as it ruffled it's feathers in an expected manor, still a shy 'fraid from the chase, I assume. It's eyes wandered around the place that we bore, but it's attempts began to grow weary as it seemed overcome by it's own search. I noticed, so I tried to find any source of peripheral objects but it was dark enough that I couldn't make out a thing (other than the sterling silver beauty before me).

I was just before the bird's core as I pushed my hands out to see if I was near some sort of object other than iron, but I ended up feeling that mesmerizing steel yet again. I ignored any other attempts at my now forgotten quest and instead tread my hands down it's wing in lust, a tad surprised it still hadn't fled from my grasp. The boiling touch (cooled down by the breezy winds) infatuated me with the broken essence of undying desire in full fledging. I caressed down the upper rim of its left wing, but a large bump stopped me, causing the end of my exploration, and a bit of startled-ness on my end. The juggernaut started to fluster itself, but I continued to investigate the mysterious object clipped upon its wing by feeling it around with my hands, quite intent. I stopped for a second right there when I felt a lone pole coming up from the top a rectangular box, backing off accordingly, just realizing what it was.

An intercom.

As if it had read my mind, the scarlet falcon rose up into the air in a disgruntled thrust, and flashed a shield of razor wind onto my face as it flapped furiously at me in mid air. A barrage of dust, and peppered rocks sent me swooshing backwards with such a high degree of force that I was sent headfirst into the sand. In a bizarre confusion, I fell in awe as I saw its wing glow in a brilliant white light. It lit up the area perfectly, just like the city was! I could see now that just below him was a raft, one with six connecting logs and tightly fastened with eight batches of yellow rope connecting them. Around the inside of it happened to be a small fence of cut down boards to help serve a wall to the water, and then a final log pillar standing straight up to serve as a grand mast with the perfect, white sheet hanging off the spectacular piece. It was so strange; I never noticed it from aerial view of the port. It looked like it was just made, even. With a new curiosity ensued, I started to go back near the iron hawk, but it's glowing stopped, and darkness fell blind upon the area again.

It was hard to see, but the small outline I saw of the bird I saw had was begging to fly even higher. With a spiteful heart, it had widened its wings and spiraled off in a burst of ecstatic energy. With a rough astonishment, it stopped my track of thought for a good minute as I could only hear the faint ping of its departure ring through my ears. But with a same edge, I messily stringed myself back up from the ground, and still felt the emptiness floating around the place. I forgot to think in my frozen response to its fleeting, and with yet another motion of indifferent jogging towards it's direction in the sky, an abrupt thought came jarring into mind. Every step I took ahead seemed to be a woeful nick in the copper stone of my apprehension. I was being pulled over and over with my feet tripping and shifting more and more as I felt the raft getting nearer to me. I was right before the barge in the most painful of ecstasies as I felt another embrace from the goddess of misfortune constantly beating my heart with the hammer of imperial suffrage. My eyes deadened with a silver circle harboring within the confines of white pupils.

Everything became blurry as the hurting memory from previous steps cheeped upon me again. I couldn't see through my clouded eyes of gray. I felt as if collapsing right then and there. What is this? I don't want to do this! My steps ceased in immediate result, and the battalion of uncomfortable awareness calmed. I should go back, safe in my home. Was this all according to fate? I still had so many questions, what was this thing, why had it come to me, what did this raft mean? I saw the juggernaut glide fly so far away from me, so far into the seas, I couldn't resist taking one step forward before I realized at that one moment, no. No. I could never leave Jadiack. The world beyond, what if none exists? What if I'm lost, beyond any survival, wallowing in sadistic nothingness.? But, surely, I wasn't going to go back now? Not after all those days spent wishing for another world, a raft to take me away. It felt so awful, though. But it was too late. Fantastically, an uprising of electric orange stings of light erupted beside my feet, and I felt my adrenaline.

As I stood there, frozen for just a second, I wondered. Is there anything beyond the sea? Beyond this horrible little island? Maybe someplace nothing could never inhabit. Something, beyond an end? I felt all my being, being drained away as I slowly closed my silvery eyes and gently collapsed upon the softest sand. My system felt weak No longer could I brave the elements of mystery fleeting around me in disguise, and I blacked out into nothingness in the utmost of burnout.

…

The armored stork returned. It glided in playful dances of the sky, and twirled around the forgetting body. It dipped its feet down onto the rim of redding boat near the raft, and cocked it's head curiously at the one now lying yards away from it. It let out a victorious "Kck-Kyuu!" and flew just beside him in a grateful fancy. Slowly, he scooped the boy underneath it's broad wings and lazily glided over to the raft, landing down upon it's wooden floor, and leaving the boy there to contemplate his sleep. Then under a dutiful force, the bird kicked up into the sky, doubled back, and slid masterfully underneath a rope that had been left in front of the raft like an arch, just perfect for a stout pulling from another candidate. After securely setting up it's reign for there leave, the metal masterpiece fluttered it's wings up in the air, then began the journey off into the sea with flapping wings and a steady tail.

--

I don't remember much when I wallowed within the blackness of my mind, rendered unconscious by some extraordinary incantation. I was tempted over and over to forget, to forget, and I could only keep remembering who I was by chanting my name over and over.

"..Reckard...Reckard.."


	2. Pillar II: Annoh's Silver Duel

A/N: I'm pretty proud of this chapter since I think it's in a much better style than my last chapter. I wrote most of it about a year ago, so I think my abilities changed a bit since then. I also think I'll be using the one scene here --Spilt-- one scene here and so forth for reasons obvious in the next couple of chapters. And if you didn't notice last chapter, this is a _very _mystery centric story, so a lot of the things you might hear now may not be fully understood until the middle of the story or later. It's not going stay this mysterious forever, as you'll see in Pillar IV, and will more or less be attuned to one of the more popular styles of pokemon fanfiction.

And this chapter registered about 22 pages in Microsoft Word. If you don't have to read long chapters like this, I can assure you that a majority of my chapters will register over 10 pages because of my style. I just find it easier to write that way, one because I add more things in it, and two because it will hopefully destroy my worries of having 100-something chapters (a lot happens, in my opinion) for people to read through. But anyway, if you've managed to stave through my ramblings, kudos to you! Enjoy.

Memory Tower

Pillar II: Annoh's Silver Duel

Swirling leaves buffeted the outer reaches of the darkened sea vigorously. Within the ocean of black downy, a certain mecha was swiftly skimming the top plate of water in intense concentration. It masterfully dodged the violent whirlpools scattered along the frontline of a lightened mass up ahead, the raft bound tightly close behind under its bindings, fortunately not disrupting the ragged customer in embossing sleep. The sky was now only just reaching out of the night and heading towards morning by the dim stretch of orange sunrise glittering across the clouds. The raft and its bearer lowered their speed, and glided gently onto the watery mirror below them towards the glowing being before them.

Corridors of sunlight slowly spread its bearings along the plain of blue in a peachiest mesh of color, flickering along the stable forewings of the iron bird in divine reflection. The two briskly halted among waters. The venture ahead was still just as dim as the night before, and dawn had only unleashed its virtue even more. The juggernaut had decided to sit for a moment along the drenched floor of the raft, stretching out lazily for a well- deserved rest on its midnight revue. It pecked at its iron side for a bit and scattered the heels of red metal together in a soothing clack of relaxation. Up ahead, beyond the galloping waves of leisurely blue lay something else the two had wished to reach besides more mileage. In front of the blazing sun overhead, a solid, auburn pillar lay glowing in a transcendent barrage of regal vibrancies.

It's piercing crimson eyes glazing the many shades of light around the pillar, the steel doused bird began with a steady up rise into the air and under it's yellow reigns, took off in a fierce glide, pinning the raft to itself thistly by the wind. After another five minutes or so, the sea had lightened up in the gentle sunlight. You could see its basking cerulean glow through the dusted daybreak breaching across the leftover blackness. The bird and it's chained follower stopped right before the pillar in mid fluorescent blaze, and examined it quickly while it's reflection lay among the pillar's pure white sheet of phosphorescence. But it ignored the inquiry, and took eyed the pillar with an eerie suspicion.

The raptor's wings had an opaline zing around it's edges, as the brazen figure coolly raised its left annex into the air before the pillar, the exact same that had the cargo intercom locked onto it.

"Solange" A muffled voice stated grimly to the column before, waiting diligently for any response. Sure enough, the obelisk began to rumble a bit in the voices adherence. A thick line of light blue dripped down the fronted lobe of the pilaster's circumference, and another line of the same separated from the main root in several branches, dividing the pillar into many disfigured boxes.

Seeping freckles of color spurted out of malformed shapes, and slowly, but surely, the pier began division in half to each side. A darkened screen glittered with speckled fuzz was revealed in the airspace between the two halves. More static burred and hummed along it's own world as two eager pairs of eyes watched on.

"Strike, verification." A lifeless voice said from the screen in a dreary tone. The hawk slowly unfurled its rapid wings from the troublesome rope, and turned around to face the wall outlined in blue again.

--

Grudging feet grazed the plain of ragged, ivory carpets stretching beyond a hall of murky red. Everywhere was splattered with simplistic designs of diamond figures dotted in a theme of sorts, aimed within a small range of mirthless gratitude. A small triangular clip with a dotting headphone bud was fitted nicely along the side of his paler white complexion and into his ear, though thoroughly hidden by his long locks of streaming silver hair nicely falling down his sides.

His incandescent amber eyes shone with a gritty street hood as his own sterling bristles fell greyly in front, and making him grudgingly push them to the side. His hair always did that, the neatly strewn expanse of moonlight gray having been bunched up in the far back of his head in at least fives spikes of resplendence springing off in a multitude of directions, though neatly locked together by a firm, black pad of fabric wrapping around the outer edge of the spectacle tightly, while still allowing the rest of such to fall carelessly into a shy bit below his shoulders.

Thoughts pulsed through his brain, each more worrisome than the last. He couldn't believe the circumstance. A year felt so long since he'd seen that face, those eyes, that smile.. It was almost laughable if it wasn't so sad that he had thought just three months ago he would never see those things again.

Presently, a shadowed door blanketed in a coat of hazel paint, oh so screaming the torture time had condemned on it and covered in a shower of strewn out flakes, had revealed itself. The fleshed out beige slippers sown tightly with a scarlet length had stopped now before the weeping structure upon it's withering avenue.

Maybe, he was just getting his hopes up for nothing. All that time he kept saying to himself, it would never happen, it would never happen.. The nights spent longing to see him again, the tinges of guilt every memory gave him. He couldn't think of it now, not in front of him. Even if the idea seemed so distant.

Slowly, the man in enigma placed his white, thread stitched glove trailing down to his wrist upon the rusted doorknob, and turned, a silent worried. Everything was so tattered, so dark. The walkers cloak clearly shared the same embrace. It was completely decked out over his shoes, and going a bit far past the rim of his opal gloves. In fact, a light shade of sinful burgundy, antagonizing turquoise, and the on stretch of saffron gloom scattered about was placed in a rectangle montage at the end of his wrists facade, a dull red line separating it from the rest of the outfit.

The details seemed to escape him. The lead Prospector never told him what really happened. His equals had only told him the vaguest form of truth. The scattered bits of "He'll tell you then" and "On the seventh, on the seventh! " to every obvious question that was bound to come up. Maybe he thought it was just to size him up. Make it less of a shock. But it never really went away.

The cloak bore a color of clouded slate-quite concurred with its fine chrome (and fully unlinked) zipper stretching almost up from the hood until the guises end. Underneath that was a mere cool green t-shirt, and a pair of light brown pants. But the centerpiece of the entire get-up was a nicely carved, palatalized nickel chain, forming a small bridge from each side of the owner's breasts, but still keeping a relatively short distance in-between. A slightly tall bead of ash plated metal served as the handles for fastening the pressure when needed around the coat. His appearance to most was of a martyr dressed in his clothes of personified darkness.

But that didn't matter now. No, he wouldn't show weakness in front of him. Tomorrow would come, either way.

The tightly fastened gloves curved around the nub with a firm grips, and sluggishly shifted the member of iron. It glided open with a lowly enthusiasm, and was accompanied by the arrival of some weak foreshadowing's of light. He lifted his face up from the ground in jaded haste, and looked straight ahead and up around the room to see that it was an exact copy of the hall before, but much in more diminished stature. A faded lamp strung up by a loose, copper twine, with another of the same hung next to it in opposite apparel.

The sight foremost was a basic brick painted desk set in large legs of hickory, and a masked figure of inky haze, for lights had not been stringed up in the sect of such territory.

"Hm, Thirteen?" Said a voice out from the darkened vastness hidden beyond the coldest shade's reign. It seemed to stretch out as a quite tall creature, but not too much. The unrecognizable face of the unseen palm of its hand reached out to touch the desk as he twiddled about in what seemed like a brash, honeyed lounge chair.

"Yes sir. I've come as requested." The other said, now only a fleeting inches from another's workplace. His face stood sodden with latent emotion.

"I assume you've been briefed, Thirteen?"

He nodded lowly, but then turned his head up to conclude, "Not, completely sir."

"Ah, I see. I suppose I couldn't expect Nine and Twelve to describe such an important mission they hadn't been apart of before." A shrouded hand, wrapped up in a small package of gnarled gauze-like banners of ivy directed itself over to the corner of the room, where a small, upright chair lay undisturbed. "Please, take a seat. I assure you, I'll be able to elaborate in a much more clearer fashion."

"Yes." The younger man agreed, and obediently dragged the stronger bench over in within the right space in front of the higher desk.

"So where shall I begin? You remember the days of the Memory Tow-" But the deeper voice was cut off by the deeply anxious and convulsed sound of his guest.

"Yes. I'd rather you not speak of it." The other personage blocked out with a provoked tone, slightly shifting his feet to the left in hardened reaction.

The sheltered outline was taken back for a moment, but quickly responded afterwards with, "Of course, of course my dear. No one should ever relive bad memories. Unless.." Thirteen struck a stiff gaze at the other's sight, but the other mystification broke the stare-off by eagerly adverting his eyes. "You'll know what to do tomorrow. But I expect the real reason you showed up is…?"

"You called me here." A gruff reform returned back while he crossed his arms in front of each other in an agitated posture.

"Let's not kid each other, you'd never come here if you didn't have to, right?" His voice echoed eerily through the room. The boy tried to avoid looking at him, and instead, gazed silently towards the dirty carpet.

The other man edged in a slight ambiguous that clearly rung with his next message. "I assume they gave you the basics. You must meet your 'acquaintance' at the porthole, and lead him through the Iniquitous Halls for the operation. Understood so far?"

"Right.. But let's say another spots me? One that wasn't briefed? You remember the rule of acting on the idea there may always be a traitor in our midst you made, don't you?" He questioned in dire aptitude.

"Your quite right, my little fledgling. One of the others could suspect you of treason with you carrying around such a limp body and all. But don't fret, I've cleared the mansion from any other inhabitants." Happily consulted the different male. His pearly eyes shone so bleary as he eyed Thirteen's sigh of relief. "If anyone, only Nine should be stopping by to drop the load off."

"Yeah." Sagged the droopy voice of a disgruntled occupier deep in entangled doubts. The de-hooded porter released the binds of uneasiness loose on his void and barren hand, and evenly tapped the front right side of his head, muffled with the thatch of argent whiskers as he lowered his head in dolor conduct.

"Something wrong?" Asked the spare animation in a sort of dull interest. Thirteen's face lifted up to meet the man's blank expression with another of his own now, laying his hand to the side.

"I guess I really don't get it. Is that Reckard-is he really-?" A peering eye playfully dusted over the younger boys pout, now brandished with the sense of confusion. "I mean, when you said you finally found him, I-"

"Stop. I see your troubles, lad." Confirmed the coupled eyes and voice that issued from the shadows in smooth empathy. " I've told you what this Reckard may be. His consciousness has been growing inside unknown entity. If our mission goes correctly, it very well might be your Reckard. Today's the first step in making that observation, and we know quite well we need your help for this as well." Thirteen adverted his eyes downward in a sense of unsure presence as the surge of uncomfortable emotion that manned the general's response wisped off his tongue.

Thirteen, in a pile of confused discomfort, told in the softest way he could manage, "But I overheard you before. In the barge." His eyes were constantly shaded out from the poorly lit dormitory, as his voice grew larger. "You care about Rhodes more than anything. How could you possibly develop any empathy with me?"

An overly distained frown brushed upon the other guised face, and with a prominent clarity, he countered, "I treat all my members equally, and you know that. I am merely taking Rhodes into the same level of priority as Reckard. Your little grudge is only swaying you in a different direction." The boy's face scrunched up in the anguish that it had been defeated, but then turned his head again. "You shall enter the Iniquitous with Reckard, understood?"

"Yeah, but I still don't get it all! How can I do that? Why?!" The other being across grew a tad more startled at this, and withdrew a bit before continuing on with a response.

"Thirteen, I don't allow insistent outbreaks. Yu must stop acting like a child. 'To conjugate our needs..'"

"'..We must always be civileezed.'" Thirteen finished. "Honestly, did you even listen to yourself when you wrote that thing? Civileezed isn't even a word!" His hands were slightly up with a retaliating strike now bared to his opponent's neck. But the other combatant in the war of words still stood strong.

"Is that what you came to argue about? My inconsistency? Do you want to save him or not? I can easily assign this project another prospector with far more experience than you." He dipped out of the smog for a bit, revealing his richly olive tan skin curling around his visible eye and around the coral streamers twiddling along the edges of swarthy fog.

"No!" The younger boy shouted in an unanticipated burst of concern, slightly jumping up and out of his chair with an anxiety-ridden expression on his face. "Please. Please, I-I promise I'll be better!" A single moment past of still depression as Thirteen brushed off a bit of the dust the chair had put upon him, still angling down.

"Good, that's the correct choice. Let me continue." The man commanded with his still nonchalant verse. The other life across him nodded with abysmal qualm, and kept his head lower, so out of view. "As I said before, you must bring Reckard through the Halls, then into the Quarry."

"The Quarry's forbidden." Thirteen mumbled loud enough so the other personage could barely hear, mildly surprised at his earlier statement. "And the Halls-You know I couldn't even get through that myself, let alone with him."

"But of course-I put those corridors there for a reason. No member besides myself could ever get through the halls laced with malice." Elaborated the shadow, still lifting the cool past behind him. Thirteen shot a perplexed gawk at the other member while slightly tipping head to the sight in a dire need for explanation. A sinister smirk gently unfolded as the older man scouted up in his elongating. "And this, is why you need the sword so much."

"The sword?" Shuddered the boy in an elongated quiver that spoke out in the harsh environment.

--

The eternal whiteness faded, and the images of the raft and its traveler slowly came into view. The stubborn brutish actually blanketed it's wings over Reckard's body in a tight sense of protection as the light was sharply repelled, and the newly made sunrise had awakened.

The monster's sharpest red eyes darted across to where the pillar once stood, but instead found oblivion. Not a trace of marble was kept within the waters net from the once flourishing pilaster. Even though it had maintained the outer shell of security and stalwart charisma, the robotic habitual was deeply confused on what happened to the beams locality upon the blank page of aquifer nothing.

"What are you waiting for?" Chirped in a deadened murmur, very much grazed in static. "I can still see you, you know." The avian quickly drew aghast without delay, and lifted its other clipped limb in alertness. "I've already scanned the station, and it looks a go." Repeated the radio head. "All the lights are gone now, so cheer up!"

After shaking its head a bit to help clear his precipitance, the beast looked straight ahead in accordance with its master. No longer were there a column, but a beach.. A grassy mound of earth (with a water opening in the front) shaped in a crescent sort of form, this sight being in the middle of the ocean. You could also see that the mound separated into two strips of pale green flatland, making a path of sorts deep into the horizon. The animal across merely cocked its head, and daintily flew over to the grounds shoreline.

Meanwhile, another figure was sailing along the skies of the strips coast. It was quite far away from where the other two were, and they seemed to be greatly taking their time. It was a little larger than the other flyer, and kept a much more natural feeling, having been coated in a nice stretch of mahogany feathers. But it kept an odder quirk about with a striking red, and flat spike upon its head. A strange, gray radio head, as like the other, had also accompanied this one. But even more wildly, this one was actually sewn upon a strong tuft of hair to keep it in place, for the jagged steeps and startling bows it made plowing into the air around it had no suspicion it would come off if not secured extra tight.

"Number Nine, Saulkia here." Ruffled out the strong mumblings of an agent in stern. The avian, already expecting this, merely drooped off to the side in a faint swoop of noise and gently landed atop a patch of fluttered grass. The creature let out a small squeak in acceptance and allowed the woman to continue speaking. "Where are you? My coordinates are a little fuzzy." Quickly, the slickly brown bird lifted it's wing over to it's itself, ad sharply bit off one of it's feathers.

Although it looked like a feather on it's host's skin, in actually the moonlight showed the reflecting metal being only painted the color. Within a flash, it whooped the metal inquiry deep into the morning sky; only a shining light sparkled before a small explosion of orange and red filled the sky ablaze. "Ah, much better. Good, you're at the station then. You know your orders; I'm only here for supervisionary and moral support." And so off the cavalry went, trudging more and more along the trail.

Back to the others, the bird had already started darting along the side of the log canals shoreline in a series of fleeting bursts amidst the reddish, yellow sky. Although anyone could see the undetermined and worrisome look brandished upon the enigmas face, the stroking words of that voice that awakened it's inner strength by repeating it's distant loving. The three traveled deeper and deeper into the wandering crevice, and it wasn't long before the scenery took a drastic change.

Just up along the path, the river stopped dead on with a small, round plot of land without any other bearings, like it's other spots. The iron bird fluttered back in astonishment, for it was expecting to easily glide along the towhead's guideline, and was not anticipating something so abrupt. To the everyday passenger, the world had stopped there. Only a bare ocean accompanied the stop, but as the bird leered closer to it's dead end, and keenly straightened it's darkly red eyes, there was in actuality a thin strip of land under the blanket of water leading to a now revealed patch of land continuing on with the path in an undisrupted fashion (only hidden once by the now blisteringly cold sunlight).

"Something feels wrong. It must be a trap." Blurted out the voice in dim amusement to the bird.. It was all too obvious in it's eyes. It must be a booby trap for impending intruders such as themselves. The very small plain a person would have to cross by foot seemed stable enough, but by noticing it by an angle, you could tell that if anyone ever tried to cross that iffy implement, they would easily force the plain over (for it was actually a large slab of land-look alike wood), thus forcing the unfortunate victim plunging into the waters of a certain death.

An obvious idea was that the two could just fly over it, but that was easily tossed aside by marauders vocal companion. "Of course you could fly, but it seems far too obvious. It will put yourself and Reckard in extreme danger if we take any risks. Let there be an invisible fortress guarding that porthole, you will both get killed for sure in these waters." He was right. Upon closer inspection, the upper layer of water seemed normal, but the farther you looked in, the more you could see horrible water currents swirling in a massive collection of speeding liquid.

"Koon.." The slightly impatient rapture cooed to its follower in a language that only the voice could understand.

"Why, that does strike up an idea. Please, Air Cutter." A darkly smile crept upon the others face, and it quickly rose up to just about six feet above there previous position. Then in one swift action, the bird drew to the side like a dart, and whipped it's winged arm around itself, making a purely white wave of dead air bulletin towards the space above the other plot. It went on for a few feet before it suddenly evaporated into a white mist, revealing something very expected. As one could see beyond the mist, a field of bright red laces of rays stretched as far as one could see from the middle of the plot, and outwards in a large circumference.

"So I was right." Told the voice obnoxiously to him self. The dead particles of air that had hit the laser field had canceled out the protecting particles with only an operation to disguise themselves and the field, so they could easily be knocked away by any other particles. As the retreating mist grew upward, a strangely gaping hole in the ray fabric was revealed. "_That's_it's weak point?. Quick, look up there! Memorize it." The mist soon faded away, and the protecting particles were quickly regenerating themselves, covering the once exposed hole with invisible disguise.. The raptor looked just as startled as the voice was. "I thought there was a hole on Nationals security system that we could peak through, but this-" The bird gazed at the empty space longingly. "-is much too huge for him to ignore. But I suppose we have little choice…" The being nodded as the ruffled raft merely stood bumping up and down on the waves. For the ones that set this up, in no way could it be accidental. It just seemed too easy. Something must be waiting for them.

"Skarf, I beg you to act with caution. If Reckard gets hurt in this accident, you _will_ be held accountable. Keep him onto you-at all costs." The fledging nodded, and it gently hovered up higher into the air, cradling the raft with the unsuspecting sleeper heavily upon it's back. It should be easy enough to get through it, it thought, but such a big hole just had to be put there deliberately. Quickly it scooped up the raft onto its iron back. Its body shivered by the heeding of his master, but it continued onwards despite.

"Kyukyaa!!" Skarf roared out in a brave speeding towards the invisible hole. Skarf hadn't paid too much attention at where it was before, so it gave another, weaker air cut to scatter the protection particles. It shot out as usual, Skarf still trying to keep hold on the raft and the plain of lasers was revealed once again. Skarf instantly jumped to the chance at going in through the now very visible hole when it suddenly got in a few feet's range from it, something strange happened. The bright red force field pillars that blocked every other exit had suddenly rearranged it self, and the gaping hole had covered up, and then placed much farther away then were it once was, and the shiny, metal cavalry was set smashing into the red hot lasers defense.

It burnt the starkly sharply and was set spiraling down with the unconscious body laying untouched beside it in mid-air. You could see the stamp like marks made from the conflict, and the bearer's eyes were securely fastened down with pain resulting from such an inquiry. The two seemed ready for an imminent casualty when out of nowhere; a terrifyingly angry voice yelled out the animal's species, "Skarmory!!" And as if he said the magic words, Skarf's eyes opened with a new vengeance of its master's anger, and it quickly swooped down under the seemingly dead bodied Reckard, leaving the raft to be easily chopped up in the oncoming waves. The 'Skarmory', now filled with a deep sense of seriousness, dropped Reckard down on its previous earthy soil as it listened intently to its master's next order. "I've had it with him! I knew he had something else in store for us, I knew it! Fine then! I'll make sure that system is ripped apart! "

In another place, however, things were much more quite. Only the small whiffs of air that the brown glazed beauty made seemed to make any noise. From that bird's own radio, the charming voice of Saulkia instructed, "Up ahead there should be an end to the canal, go up to that spot, and direct your wing up to the 'skies' and let me repeat my password." The beauty followed it's orders and placed itself on the place where the canal ends on a piece of land nearly identical to Skarf's, raised it's wings to the lightened 'skies' and let Saulkia repeat her code: "Solange." In a bizarre take of events, the earth around the scarlet one instantly digitized into dead black, leaving only them on a piece of land as if the world around them was just made of data. But even more strangely, the two didn't seem surprised. Just as quickly as it disappeared, the landscape returned to them in a digitized mass, and they flew away as if nothing ever happened. The small dot that was Skarf could only just be seen on the practically cloned canal.

" Concentrate, Skarmory, concentrate. Lock yourself to the earth, feel it's burning core resonate with yours." The Skarmory quickly dug its claws into the sterilized earth. "I am asking you to for a slightly complicated beam, but you have practiced before so it's the aftermath we should be worried about." Skarf sweated a bit at this, but nodded slightly. "As you know, the beam works by taking the raw, physical energy out of your system and then send a vortex with your spiritual energy to create the perfect fusion of power, deadly in most circumstances. And as you know, this means your overall health afterwards will grow a bit-thin." His words pulled at the Skarmory's hearts strings, but it continued listening to it's dedicated owner as it poised into a very slanted stance. "Let me not bore you anymore with all the technical alterations. It is a very simple and reckless attack at heart-nothing I would want for you to bare, as the side effects are quite strenuous." The man's voice spoke with aplomb. Skarf etched back it's head a for a moment, getting ready.. " But it's required. Hyper Beam."

Skarf jumped backwards a small bit and raised it's feathered arms in the air above as it called forth a great bog of his strength to him, gathering upon all his inner being that lay dormant within for a moment, and then mixing the two entities and releasing it in a fantastic beam of fiery orange and red power. It easily crashed through the laser fabric, obliterating the protector particles, then making an enormous opening in the field. It lowered its limbs in a saggy exhaustion as it constantly huffed and puffed air into its circulatory system. "Very good Skarf, I was expecting…less. You remembered not to use all your raw strength in that attack, but your inner faith cannot say the same. The small puddle of strength is all you'll be able to use to keep yourself from becoming unconscious, so remember not to leave Reckard behind." The bird just started up a weak flying technique with Reckard straddled upon it, and then collapsed onto the other patch of land through the smoldering hole it had created.. "Or maybe you should rest for a bit before going on." The radio declared, and so it did. But down near the farther end of the canal, the scarlet one was nicely gliding among the winds in a lazy stroke of idleness.

"Not too much longer now. You should see a pill-" But Nine broke eerily off, as if just realizing something. "Get to the left, now!!" she roared. The scarlet one, not noticing anything strange, did get a bit to the left, but in it's own lazy sort of fashion that quite angered the agent. "Honestly, you're supposed to be fleeing." She muttered under her breath in which the machine gave no response. "Brace yourself." As it is, the brown one smelt something burning up ahead. Suddenly realizing what it was, it wrapped its arms around itself mischievously, suddenly making fierce, red blurbs of energy circle around it in deep concentration. Then, in a total destructive path making wave after wave of gigantic overflows as it flew, the same spirit burning beam engulfed the small, almond being that seemed to have stabled itself within it with the help of some reassuring blobs.

After the beam had passed through it miraculously alive, the bird had the need to gently roost downwards, and so it drooped it's battered body to a safer habitat then whatever aerial proportions had treated him to now. "It's good you endured on my command." Saulkia granted with the tiniest bit of gratitude. "But your taking this mission far too usuriously. If you hadn't endured, I would've expected we would need medical attention for you being struck so suddenly, and out here in the digital station, medical corps are hard to find." The bird had stained an uncomfortable look on its face and grudgingly decided to lift up from its position on the ground floor to up on it's own two legs. "I wouldn't normally allow this, but there's a strong healing potion on the back helm of my radio pack. I give you permission to treat yourself." So the anguished one raised it's left wing forward and gently pecked at the back bolt containing the radio device. And inside was indeed a light pink bottle shaped like a dewdrop and with the smelling of a sweet essence.

The bird lunged the concoction in the air, masterfully caught it within its beak and scarfed down lulling juices inside. Very quickly, the great scarlet felt an immediate onrush of energy surge throughout its body as if the potion had revived its inner strength. Whatever the case, it felt much better. "Done already? Good. Go full speed ahead, and no pit stops. " And so the delighted carrier agreed to its master's command, speeding off into the bleary skies. It was very eager to redeem itself and extract its revenge quite thistly in front of its trainer if he could dispatch those marauders of the red beam. But now, the other avian was flying by the silky waters of the canal, but instead very droopy and off of it's usual sheen.

"The mansion is nothing but a few more paces ahead. I've opened up a short cut for, just for this occasion." Skarf decided to act like he didn't hear the voice, and just softly flew itself with a little guidance of the freshest morning winds. It's face looked drowsy and undignified for the most part (as it had a very good right to be so), but that suddenly changed into a very skeptical and slightly unnerved look jumped upon it. A small, brown dot was coming straight for them, and it seemed to get bigger and bigger every few seconds. "Do you see it too?" Asked the man with a delicious tone. "It seems there was another person within this station. No doubt they all ready tasted a bit of our Hyper Beam, eh?" The 'Skarmory' agreed with a slight nod, and decided to land itself upon another strip of land, setting Reckard down nicely. "I didn't prepare for any intrusions like this Skarf. But this shouldn't worry you at all, no. I will get what I desire in the end." The bird just kept it's eyes wide open, and awaited the now bullet speeding pursuer coming right along up there track.

"Remember, " Told Saulkia as the earth-glazed flyer also began to see the other in an ongoing panic. "If these hackers are powerful enough to initiate a Hyper Beam, they probably won't go peacefully. Be on your guard, and allow me to act first." They were now but only a few yards away, and both were staring each other down intently, knowing all too well the consequence of their actions.

--

A damp silence filled the room. "Yes, his sword. A truly marvelous weapon indeed.." Thirteen tried to contain his anxiousness, but it clearly showed with his bit lip expression. Whatever he could've made, it only made him shiver. There confrontations with what he thought the other man was talking about still managed to creep him out. Under his desk, a navy blue box wrapped in a dull beige towel lay waiting, and the man quickly lifted it up and then down onto his desk to show the boy. "Hm, don't be nervous." Chuckled the older one as he slowly unwrapped the packaging. With the man's gilded hand, he took the tan-bandaged hilt with the black, diamond shaped end with great carefulness, very excited as he placed the rest of the blade upon his area. As the eyes traveled up its pole shaped handle, you saw incredibly polished, dark silver triangle with its flat end connecting to the hilt, an even more surprising sentence within that. Right in the middle of the triangle being was an eerie, black keyhole that looked like was made of metal from a strange metal that seemed to have a disturbing sense of pure darkness attached to it as well.

What was next was a piercing hunk of blade that was made with the most unlikeliest of articles; a mesh of blue and purple crystal. It was quite a long blade, about three feet, and starting out from the pointed end of the triangle (which was covered on the other side with a mirror image). It had an arch within the middle of its long passage of blade, and on each side of this was a dark purple and outlined white exe that matched perfectly with the lightness of the exterior. Underneath each exe was a large, dark blue and outlined black cross that ended with a mesmerizing, vanilla spiral at the end. Finally, above each exe were two horizontal parallel lines that were simply that until a faintly etched circle could be seen within each of the light red markings, rich with the grandest of all honey comb yellows. A double-edged sword, fit for a warrior. The enigma softly gripped the handle of the sword and lifted it with the point up in front of him to admire it for a moment. An infant smile grew upon him, and he proceeded to take the sword and face the point directly towards Thirteen's face.

He let go of his lip in a second, and quickly raised his arms a bit in front of him as his bewildered eyes once again met the others. "What-What are you going to do with that?" Asked the boy with a tremble in his voice. Just looking at that sword-he could remember. Anyone could feel the sinister aura that had alluded around it. The more Thirteen looked at it, the more it seemed a yellowish red cloud seemed to form around him.

"When I had retrieved this back from-you know, it chose me as it's next bearer." He started, tapping his open fingers atop the brick board. "I shall now pass that duty to you. It contains the very element you fear, yet need. Memory. Keep it close." And with those words, the sword disappeared behind a storm of magically diamond purple clouds and sparks, in which it then reappeared within Thirteen's hands. With Thirteen's arms and already in an exe for protection, he shut his eyes tight, expecting a very painful or unusual circumstance, but instead felt the smooth handle of the sword atop his palms. He slowly flickered his eyes opened, and then went blank with a strange feeling as he started straightly into the never-ending color of the blade in itself. He half lowered his eyes lids and raised the sword side ways up to him.

He saw Rhodes , laughing. Standing on a dark bridge, laughing as he and Reckard float away into pitch black. He saw a dark mountain pulsing with something that made him ache inside. But then he saw himself happily gazing into the clouds with him on an island laden with a sandy beach, a black cave, and a single palm tree.

He was terrified, though his empty and unfeeling face didn't show it. But it wasn't a kind of horror you could scream at it. It was a kind of horror he couldn't express, something only his mind could take as his glazed eyes kept on watching the watery purple. It was rid of the same sense he had felt earlier. It had been replaced with a feeling of uncertainty, so delicate, so fragile. He flipped over the weapon, expecting to see the same image, and he did-minus the fact that keyhole now had a sterling white metal instead of black, and was also filled with the same sense of entity.

"If a sword is what I needed, then I'll gladly take another. But not his, never his!" And he threw the sword to the ground in an angry disruption of the peacefulness. Whatever delicate feelings had popped up within this sword meant nothing now; he just felt that devilish torment that, that sword had instilled upon him. A painful feeling of jealousy, helplessness and overall, the emotions of an undying will felt written inside that blade.

"Oh, my delicious little Thirteen. This is not any ordinary sword." With the same dusting of purple, the sword had suddenly reappeared once more in Thirteen's lap lain hands. A worrisome look entered Thirteen once more as looked down at the sword, and then up to the man again. "Once attached to the user, it will never release its grip until a rare occurrence tears them apart. It has magical properties as well as physical, you know. Rhodes made it with such a dignified being, it completely outwitted my own creations by far."

"You know I won't." The other said, tightly gripping the sword for some reason.

"Oh, you can't, can you? Well I guess I'll just have to call up Ten, or maybe Twenty-One to handle-"

"I won't let you give this to anyone else. I'm meant to do this, you know it!"

"Why look at how many times that's been said! My halls have grown so thick with dangerous elements it's unable to control any more. That sword is the only way to your precious Reckard. You'll take it, or else lie in yet another year of misery. Right?"

He stared once more into the piercing purple light, and then closed his eyes accordingly. 'The sword is the embodiment of Memory. What does it mean if I can't handle a bit of painful sufferings, does he think I'm too weak? Or-Or-' He thought to himself liltingly. 'Maybe I'll see those again either way. But that sword is so horrible; every glance at it makes me sick. But I-But he-said I should have it. Should I? ' He opened his eyes once more, and looked at the general before him. ' Should I. 'a fainted picture of a black silhouette in the form of a person was walking along in his memory. 'The sword of memory…' He looked down back at his new sword that gave a smiling reflection back at him, quite contrary to his frown. He then looked back up and said, "Right. You don't need to tell me what to do in the Halls, I know."

"Ah, quicker than I expected. That sword is of a very magical property, Thirteen, I hope you realize that. You must never let it consume you, for I can still feel that weakness ripe within your soul. " He lifted out his finger, and pointed towards Thirteen's chest. "And deep within your heart, I can tell you're vulnerable to Rhodes as well. Just the mention of him."

Thirteen scornfully closed his eyes and crossed his arms ignorantly, saying, "Well I suppose you'd know all about weakness, right? Can I leave already, your stench is spreading on me."

"Almost, Thirteen. First, a minor instruction. Place Reckard in the middle symbol between the pillars, then divide his entity."

Thirteen's eyes blinked and he questioned nervously, "You never told me about-"

The man's eyes just brightened up exuberance and he told the worried boy, "Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something." Just then, Thirteen rolled his eyes and jumped out of his seat, and went going for the door with the sword tied under his cloak. But he was stopped by the words of the older man. "Wait, Thirteen. You know that to make this mission successful and more importantly, binding, I must know your name."

Zexion stopped, and turned around with a drowsy look on his face. He replied, "It's funny National, you always tell everyone to keep their name secret when you give out your name for free."

National merely smirked at the boy and said, "Of course. That's because all agents who come here will have to come in conjunction with me eventually."

--

"Land on the far end of the canal strip across from that one." The scarlet bird obeyed, and landed on the strip of land directly across from where Skarf was. They both turned to meet each other's eyes. Then, without warning, the brownish one quickly let out its left wing where the radio head was strewn on, and allowed his master to speak. "That must be quite a powerful creature to make such a beam." Skarf mirrored the other's action and let his master speak as well.

"Why, of course. My Skarf here is the best of it's kind." The voice seemed to drip with an eerie enthusiasm that shone with the imminent sense of sarcasm that playfully wisped off his tongue. "Nothing that the department doesn't deserve." Skarf slowly lowered its beak, and shifted its misty eyes in a tired motion that seemed to signal the others approach.

In a feeling of bewilderment, the scarlet one tilted its head back in a bit of surprise at what the other's glare. It slowly hovered its beak in a not so apparent, but silently frantic fashion over to it's left and lightly carried it's wing over for Saulkia's support. "I feel you're afraid. Don't be, just look at his Skarmory. It's arm sagging with oppression, I can already sense this one will barely have a will to fight. Now listen close."

Indeed, that Skarmory did now have its left wing sagging over to the left, its half closed eyelids just managing to be kept up. The small tufts of wind that gently graced the pond shifted the pieces lift and right; slowly captivating its shafting spikes of metal that lay dormant upon its wing. "Kujakoon." Spoke the seeping words of the wrecked flyer, all in such a yearning tone to its master.

"Agreed. Don't worry about it; the shortcut is just beyond that horizon there. Merely let me speak and it will instantly transport you into the entrance of their headquarters." The radio head whispered on to its reluctant friend in his usual variety of 'friendliness'. "Even if those two over there are fully healed, I can tell they've been poorly trained. Besides.." The scarlet across from them had now reached around itself and to its previous position, but now with an earnest face of no giving in. "I have faith in you."

Skarmory's eyes suddenly opened up completely as there bursting, crimson euphoria enlarged into a basic circle of unbelief at what his master had just said. It was rare that such a master ever said in under any circumstance he had faith in his animal. Skarmory believed perhaps it was just for the moment. Another side, however, believed it was ever lasting, perhaps his master-cared. Whatever the case, Saulkia's next words broke the entrancing magic between two with an orderly, "Give it up." The Skarmory retracted from looking entranced within itself with it's shocked irises and instead directed them towards his opponent. "Don't try and run. Your Skarmory is in no condition to be fighting, nor sprinting. You are is a rouge enemy who has taken our certain objective from us, and has illegally infiltrated the portal into this boy's subconscious. I'll tell you the consequences straight. We can peacefully retain your Skarmory, track you down with your own communication device, bring you to our central base, then release you under the careful eye of national himself and several other agents of his choice."

The Skarmory's face was kept solid, and the device remained quiet. "I am quite surprised that you managed to do all that you did. Whatever your plans were with him, I'll be here to stop it right now. But I'm sure this will keep you at ease." The darkish brown one gently lifted off of the ground, and in a dull glide, lightly swirled over to the inhabitance of Skarf's being. "You will be the first major technicality for the Department in a very long time." Just as the scarlet one had landed just before the silver one, Skarf darted backwards to avoid any contact with that other creature coming to take him in.

"Your grimey little Fearow won't lay a finger on us!" Announced the radio head with a distinct taste of anger. The 'Fearow' stopped where he was, and released the bind of rivalry with the other animal to look at him with a stonily expression.

"Well, I do commend your bravery." The Fearow lifted wings up to it's torso, slanted it self a bit, and awaited the move of the others. "I do hope you can command your Skarmory well enough to give us a fair jog, though."

The Skarmory tightened it's own body with a slant of it's own, lowering it's wings so that the tips just barely touched the earthy floor. "My Skarf doesn't need any handling." The man said angrily. The blitzing sun bounced off Skarmory's now glossy wings in all directions, the orangey glow lightening up every plate of multileveled steel. "Skarmory, I'll return to you in ten minutes. I'll expect this skirmish to be over by then. Logging out." A high-pitched beep followed and it was ensured that he had left the radio head completely.

No one moved. They had just begun to exchange solitary glances, each one meticulously chosen with a message to be silently heard by the other. Saulkia, alone and with only animal's to talk to, decided to express to Skarmory, "You can ignore him, you know." Skarmory tightened its gaze upon the two. Something was bound to erupt; it was only a matter of time. The only dim suspicion of activity was the small rattling of Skarmory's wing in the wind. "Leave him for the time being?" Skarf merely let its wing rattle even more, it seemingly glowing in the sunlight. The Fearow eyed the wing suspiciously, and slowly tapped his foot down upon the ground to signal some sort of alert. Saulkia gave no response, and the wing started to get brighter and brighter. "Maybe.." The wing was soon drawing forth a multitude of white barbs that seemed to gather within Skarf's now white as snow limb. The Fearow's eyes grew larger, worryingly awaiting some kind of order from his prospector. "You.." Then, instantly, the whiteness vanished, and was replaced with his wing being a blindingly smooth, silver plated arm heavy with a physical power.

He roughly charged with an incredible force, his iron wing lagging at his side, raising his wing in mid run, and then crashing down the silver piece with all it's iron strength into the air right before the Fearow's flesh. "Steel Wing!" The Fearow eagerly obeyed it's master's order, and lit up it's own left wing in a rushed version of Skarmory's transformation. Still a gleaming white and not completely finished, his wing parried Skarmory's but was sent tumbling backwards almost into the canals most chilling waters. "So, you do have enough energy to summon some sort of power to your aid." The machine added calmly. The weighty silver wing proved to be too much for Skarmory to retain, and it returned to the multileveled surface in a quick flash of light.

A distressed Skarmory looked on as the other's Fearow tried to shake about as quickly as it could to whip off any water it had taken. A plan had to be made; an advantage of this pause had to be made. But he realized that the woman talking, like his own master, had a map to track his movements. Something that could tell her if it moved anywhere near Reckard. But then, a shot of miraculous inspiration struck him. Saulkia's machine was, after all, just a machine.

With careful measure, Skarmory inched its way backwards to where Reckard's body lay. Every step hurt a little more than the last, but he ignored it. The auburn beauty quickly raced to meet the candescent one again, but bewilderingly saw Skarmory inch bit by bit backwards towards Reckard. He awaited the orders of his obviously well thought master. She would know what to do in this situation for sure; so waiting for her crucial advice would be the obvious course of action. She would check her machine, and give it an excellent tactic just as soon as she realized. But for several seconds, his faith within his trainer seemed to be worthless, for the device remained strangely untalkative. "Cer! Ceruca!" Whimpered the worried beast as the other monster took more and more steps backward. Could there be any hesitation? A creature _that_ powerful?

It's dreary red eyes matched drowsily with the Skarmory's devious smile. He remembered something about his master stealing a radio from the Department of Annoh. Every member had one, and the system was all the same. It tracked the movements of the thing it was attached to and anything else within a three-mile radius. But it's master found a flaw within it. It could only detect steps, or strokes of movement at a time. By inching along minutely, she could only see him standing like stone, apparently thinking. She seemed too thick to order an attack at the time anyway, for she had thought this was an advantage for her superior mind to kick in. And of course, the Fearow would never take a step unless out of its master guidance.

It wasn't long before Saulkia had noticed the Fearow's shaking disposition and movement, calling out with, "Avoid the eyes. Stand your ground." It was there, beside Reckard. There was nothing the Fearow could do, but wait. It's master gave it a direct order to stay still-and he wasn't about to misplace his loyalties just yet. "Fearow, please-What!?"

According to Saulkia's vision, Skarmory had just jumped three feet away from Fearow to a blitzing aircraft gliding at a steady speed with her most precious objective in tow. "Go! Um, Air cut, Drill Peck, now!" Saulkia fumbled, quite disturbed on what she saw. A technical mistake? But what could she rely on if her map was completely useless? The weakest recruit she had ever laid eyes on? The Fearow wasted no time and he dashed up into the skies at his best speed to try to catch up with the jaded silver ahead. No, perhaps Fearow could be more than a disappointment. What kind of trainer would she be f she gave up so easily upon her pokemon? "Get ahead, now!!" Even though Skarmory was taking jagged swerves every now and again, a renewed sense of self worth added to his complementary belt of feelings that kept his drive at maximum percent.

The Fearow glided along nervously, catching up on the silver beauty. It went blank for a moment in fright, and then desperately remembered its order, swinging its arm around in a sharp quip to summon another of those foamy white streaks to his aid. The faded being of a shakily prepared Air Cutter skimmed along the surface of his wing, barely making a small tingle travel up the other's wing. He pushed backwards, and towards the air with Reckard barely attached, and it's the tips of each wing lit up in a shamrock light. Bizarre streaks of silvery mirror shot out of both peaks, a flurry of reflective barbs suddenly surrounding Skarmory and simultaneously connecting around him to create a folded, see through wall of protection. Fearow noticed the inquiry, and made a quizzical look, but noticed he slowed down because of the mysterious incantation and eagerly managed to speed up alongside him. Suddenly, the shield vanished into a cloud of gray smoke, and Skarmory rammed its hardened sheath to chest of the Fearow. A fantastic grin overcame it as it happily dived into it's opponent's bruised skin. He couldn't help but think how that Fearow was bound to its trainer's whim.

His own trainer knew of this 'Saulkia's' impudence at fighting towards him. This was in no way, no matter how hard Saulkia would try to make it, a brawl. More a trace to the finish line, you could say. What point would there be in it's master being there if he was not supposed to command, not to fight, as Saulkia was obviously trying to do. If he became overcome and decided to do ordering, there tactics would easily be shouted out to their enemy, and even if both could read the other's movements, which one was weaker? No, he would advance o the shortcut like it's master said, memorizing and easily countering his opposite's maneuvers. Not like it would make much of a different if she was gone. The Fearow, weak and undetermined, constantly clings to Saulkia's order so much, it can't stand to do anything without her consent. By distracting the master, you distract the obedient pigeon that is far too loyal for it's own good. It's inevitable those two remained linked; and so it would ultimately spell their demise.

The dive thistly crashed the auburn flyer down to nearby land strip, and Skarmory couldn't help but look back at the delicious cloud of earthy smoke that singled its defeat. It never imagined it could be so powerful, even as so weak. But then he realized he was incredibly tired, and the adrenaline poured out of him, causing him to almost tumble among the dirt if not for a precious swerve to the left at the last moment. The flaps of his wings beat slower, and every one hurt more and more. Maybe, it thought, it could rest now that he defeated his rival. Perhaps a small nap wouldn't be too much for this beaten warrior to have? And so, it gently roosted upon a fair bit of soil and slowly unloaded the unconscious Reckard from the probably uncomfortable metal landing that was Skarmory's back. But as he lay down with his wings eagle spread, a straining feeling came to him before entering sleep. There was no noise, no sound. Nothing at all, everything was quiet. What's there to worry about, he thought to itself, and just before he was going to drift off into the most comfortable sleep he had in a long while, several sharp jolts of pain sliced at his back.

It was thrown backwards, into the water and sinking in a surprisingly fast speed. It looked around dizzily. Water ruffled his metal feathers in all directions, and lightly smoothened the now soft surface of the Skarmory's skin. Everything was spinning, he felt his head ache in ways it couldn't have imagined, and they're seemed no way to move at all. As he sank lower, the darker the depths became. It's lungs started to get shorter in breath. Soon he wouldn't have air to breath. It imagined what his master would say now, his only friend. How obviously stupid? Or maybe, what a noble genius. He didn't care all that much now, because then, a shimmering light grazed all over his surfaces, and the intercom light up with a dull beep again, when that same voice mumbled through the water; "White Castle"

Above the plain of blue, a certain Fearow was happily dancing across from Reckard's forgotten body among a rather large dent in earthy strip. One could see, upon inspection of Fearow's left wing, that a distinct, bald and square shaped patch of skin was where the radio had once been. Apparently, Skarmory's charge had been so powerful it managed to knock the device clean off when the bird made contact with the solid ground. It lay next to Fearow's jittering feet, the back flack open and several bolts unscrewed. Saulkia's voice now resembled the other's, drowned in imperial static; "Fearow! Fearow, are you there! My map shattered, I think the Skarmory may have overpowered you. Can you here me?"

Fearow stopped it's gleeful dancing for a moment, a loomed over the device with a mean stare. It let out a low, "Cuuur," and waited for the machine to give its heated response.

"Oh, thank goodness your still up, I thought-never mind! I don't think I can be with you, so this is what'll do!" Fearow rolled its eyes and allowed the machine to continue. "I'll go ahead and meet you at the mansion with Reckard. But I'll give you this set of instructions, so listen carefully! First-" But it was cut off by the loud crunch of Fearow's spiky clawed foot meeting the speaker of Saulkia's technology. "Criiuu." It purred to itself as it looked ahead at the orangey blue sky of daybreak. He waited for that moment too long. Saulkia was nothing more than a dictator to him. What did she care if it was next to dying in pain, as long as he was alive, it was all good. It had overheard her the night before; she was talking to herself late, clearly at dismay. She nervously reviewed her plans for the mission, mentioning the Kastryme, Illicle, Learning, Level, a machine that sent bursts of electricity through it if there was any thought to disobey her orders. She talked about using it only if she needed, and it seemed that after the Hyper Beam performance, she wasn't too worrisome about using it. That's why he couldn't do anything to get Skarmory. He had to change his thoughts, and obey her orders, for she believed that a simple Fearow could not be trusted.

But that was far beyond him, he thought, and kicked off the ground in his usual, lowly muse to the other strip of land (where Reckard lay). Just as he stopped, he looked over the edge and into the gurgling water. It was extremely dark and nothing but a few bubbles came up to the surface. So it gave another hearty, "Cerru!" and scooped up Reckard's body with ease, soon zooming off towards the bright orange horizon ahead.

--

Zexion was still glaring angrily at National after those words, but after scuffing his feet against the rugged carpet, he spoke up, "Zexion, Number Thirteen." National gently lifted out of his seat and revealed his true form; he was draped in a sort of reddish cloak with a square opening in the center of the chest, inside was a blue symbol painted upon a black dressing. His hands were curled in bandages of silver, green, and blue. Rolls of black, gold and cranberry were wrapped around his chest and shoulders (still exposing the symbol, of course), and leading up to his neck in now thick banners of white, crimson and rich orange. His face, however, was still shrouded in mist.

"Zexion, eh? What a strange name a mother would give. I wouldn't expect your cousins, Xenophillus and Veldramada to agree with you?" The man chuckled slightly at his own joke, but Zexion didn't look amused. His courage gave another scowl over to National's side, but he decided to go on. "Are you sure that's what you meant to tell me?"

Zexion rolled his eyes and responded, "Fine. My real name's-" He shuddered for a bit, but then continued. "Ienzo." National looked at him with a grinning exposure. Zexion gripped his fists together and grunted rather loudly "But don't you ever think about calling me that. I'm Zexion, correct?"

National was still smirking behind the darkness. He gently lifted his bandages hand, and bit off the end of one the ivy rolls, gently chewing it with his hand dangling carelessly in front. He took a step forward and revealed that his entire face was rolled over with very deep red gauze, only his tan mouth and eyes being shown. "On behalf of the Department of Annoh," he began playfully. "You are obligated to see Number Nine, Saulkia, and Number Twelve, Janine, at Pivot Cross, near the Fresh Burrow."

Zexion stood still in emotional stone and said with blurry, amber eyes, "In Johto?"

National merely nodded.

--

As the Fearow rode in its ever so cheerful condition, it felt a slight lurch in its stomach as an oncoming wave of wind blanketed the sea before them. Once or twice, these winds accidentally pushed Reckard off, but he always managed to catch him before he hit the water. He seems like he has a pretty good rip now, though. No, something else was bothering him. Perhaps, he still felt afraid of the silver menace. But no, not at al, he can't be. He saw the other bird sink like a brick into the murky waters below; it was made to kill things like that. Even if he could do a hyper beam, make a steel win, create a false shield and still manage to keep up with the wind; even he couldn't get out of drowning. It was made of steel, even! And so nothing more bothered him as it gently flew towards another end to the river.

Fearow quickly took notice of it. It was another gateway to the mansion, the final one, it expected. It was the Department's signature Cycle system. It divided its pathway in sections needing passwords with many security measures along the way. Soon enough, it would be gloating victoriously to Saulkia, her realizing she should just stayed out of the way and recommending it for pokemon of the year. These happy thoughts swirled untouched through its head when it saw that it just arrived at the plot, and it swiftly lay Reckard down. But now, it thought, when it digitized to the next station, 'Skarmory' would be left behind and whatever left of it would be scrubbed clean.

And so it raised its wing into the air, expecting the password. But of curse, its radio was gone, and so it tried it's best to imitate his 'master's' language. "Cerr-Ceruange." It was none too good of an impression, but the machine responsible for digitizing recognized its voice and allowed a flurry of black to engulf everything around the little plot.

The Fearow then expected to be met with a nice onrush of wind to cool its hot feathers, when it saw something quite different. For a few seconds, it stared endlessly into a massive vat of black. A routine digitization shouldn't have taken more then a moment or two. An error, perhaps? But Nine said that everything was scanned down to the smallest bit of data for this 'important mission'. A person must have done it. But would that mean-? The Fearow never finished that thought, for then a silver streak of static came whizzing by then like a complication on a television screen. The brown one frantically ran over to protect Reckard, but then another zoomed clean between them. It looked around desperately but just found more and more streaks buzzing through the false sky. Then a pure white rip burst through the storm of platinum and in front of the gray static behind it, Skarf was they're, jumping up and nose diving for Fearow.

Just then, Fearow had yet another revelation. Skarmory, even as weak as it was, was still a block of metal, and a few Air Cuts weren't going to send it flying anywhere. So that meant it must've dived into the water on purpose! It all made sense-he crashed Fearow to the ground so the radio would come off, making him shoot Air Cut's recklessly at Skarf and in it's wave of happiness, never would it realize that what he thought he did was impossible. It would then sink to a secret portal the silver one's master must've made, and seeing it was more then ten minutes past, it's master would activate it so when Fearow was a considerable way ahead of them, the two digitizing paths would soon intersect, allowing Skarmory to come out of his portal with a nice rest and a way to strand his opponent in a stuck portal by stealing from him, only able to be saved by the department hours later.

But sadly, only the last part mattered now. As he narrowly dodged the incoming blow, it still didn't seem to make a difference that Saulkia was right all along. Skarmory quickly rebuilt its stature and wasted no time darting towards Reckard's body while Fearow was sheepishly expecting a fight. Seemingly prepared for this hesitation, it shot a slab of metal into the other's direction, making Fearow leap to the side, seething in regret. Its eyes wandered forgotten along the battlefield. He saw Skarmory shooting a fierce grin towards him as it looked towards the rather large rip in which the he tore. It was slowly binding its wound with ever-wily streams of black. Suddenly, he heard the scuffing of a body against steel, and before he knew it, Skarmory flying at mach speed towards the tare.

Then, without really knowing it, it jumped into the air and desperately swerved left and right in an effort to catch up. A strange breeze cooled its feathers as a bright, cerulean glow came through the multitude of static.. It saw the first cloud of the day, a snow puff of cottony bliss egging it on to come and visit it. Through its brisk vision of winds, it just managed to see a shadowy outline of a rugged avian and a drooping length slyly swooping through the gate, now almost engulfing the dying blue. He got farther and farther up to it until the gap was nothing more then a small hole swirling in ash. Doubt rushed in and filled every corner as he came nearer and nearer, and the hole got smaller and smaller. But then, he felt a vicious burst of wind push him forward. A keen squeeze and Fearow just got out in time to see the piercing blue sky replenish his every element.

Higher and higher it went, deep past the clouds and closer to the sun then it had ever gone before. The sharp breeze was like a shower of icy charisma pulsing through his veins. Then it stopped, and through the massive cloud cover he saw Skarmory flying steadily towards a magnificent red mansion with a door of glittering bronze. As it looked closer, the Skarmory's eyes seemed to be drenched in weary; it's wings shakily standing, surely in a state that even with a quick rest could paralyze most with ease. As it neared closer, Fearow's doubts vanished and a new plan arose quickly within its head. It didn't matter anymore how risky it was or how stupid he had been up to this point: he was ordered by the Department to capture Reckard at all costs, and that was what it would do.

It bulleted towards the mansion with all the strength it could muster. Knowing his opposite, Skarmory would probably be there by then. It concentrated deep inside itself, swirling its energies, mixing the beings of his entities by gathering a great pool of virtue to its side. It's beak turned into a dull gray light that suddenly transformed into a sinister spike of sword-like steel that peaked on it's end with a devilishly sharp point. Before long, it had plowed through the fortress of clouds and into the front back just before Reckard's head. Skarf never saw it coming, the clouds like a cloak of sheer invisibility. It let out a deep howl of pain as it shot forward and left Reckard falling almost into the water before Fearow expertly caught it by the wing and shuffled it onto it's back. It looked back at Skarmory, scowling and making horrible turns this way and that, absolutely devastated by the attack. The scarlet one gave a childish smirk towards its direction, and its beak returned to its normal length.

Then, it raised it's head to the sky and it's eyes shone with a brilliant gold unlike it's normal blue, and it once again, concentrated. He never expected to do it, but it was now that it would happen. His heart burned ablaze like brimstone, his soul stirring within a cauldron of being. It must match Skarmory's ability. As brilliant an endurance and tough hide it bared, it would make sure those defenses would never be used again. It could no longer fight. It was gone. Then suddenly, with Reckard hanging tightly on, it flew up an under in a circle, issuing from it's mouth and eyes, a hot, white Hyper Beam. It's pearly aura blurred and collapsed over Fearow in Skarf's stress ridden eyes, and before he knew it, it piled drived the pathetic Skarf deep into the water with it's supernatural power, and soon all was quite again. A few moments after it's eyes to their normal state and it's flapping wings became less rapid; it almost wanted to collapse into the water with his enemy. But that was the difference, it thought as it flew drearily towards the door. Almost.

As skilled a tactician Skarmory was, he still beat him in the game it wanted to play. It may have been a race, but it came in with lackluster ability, mostly scrounging the floor of techniques with its pathetic bit of power. To use everything to its advantage was it's plan, but that couldn't ignore that he was better; that his power plowed through the weak, mental blockade it had set up. It was all just to slow him down, of course, and so it did, but he caught up, and won proudly. A small shiver ran through his spine as he thought this. It was still very hard.. Could it beat a Skarf at full strength? Its mind grew blank, and then concluded that he scant worry about it, for there was no chance of that power resurfacing.

It eventually stopped at the door, sliced at its core with a well-aimed feather, and it swung open, revealing that same mansion coated in melancholy color. Another person, hidden by the shadows was also there, and as Fearow turned around to allow them to take the package, it snatched it over with it's bright and silky orange cuffs, placing him in a position over her back. "Number Nine discharges you." She said in a lowly voice. "Await at the Departing Rod atop the mansion and keep a look out for anything else." The bird nodded, and flew out into the clouds without a complaint. A scarred door lay before her, and she slowly opened and closed it, soon setting off into a run down the halls of red. Suddenly, she stopped at a black glass window at an indent in the hall. She gently lay Reckard down and made a breakneck dart for National's study.

--

--

Finally, on what seemed many hours later, the ruined body of Skarmory floated atop the water in clear distress.. It's eyes were fastened tightly with the lingering pain of the Fearow' unexpected Hyper Beam. Around the time it saw the Fearow rise out of the rip, it knew it probably wouldn't make it. Revelation was a powerful thing, it thought, and no doubt even a fool like Fearow could use its power against him. So it took the small pocket of energy it had gathered from it's rest and use it to cushion the impact of it's defeat, giving it one more shred of survival. It's radio lay almost completely destroyed on top of it's arm, much like Saulkia's. A difference was that a last red dot flickered across it's metal, and an awfully broken voice sputtered out random bits of a language. "No…Sorry…Knew…Have done…no more…request…Vaporeon…summon." Then it ended with another shrill sound, and Skarmory got to move an enormous boulder in it's eyes.

It flickered its arm upwards and a dark blue bullet of the same color powder rose into the air making a dazzling firework in the sky. Across another plain, however, sharp, yellow eyes saw this display with great recognition.


	3. Pillar III: The Empty Being Died Gray

Memory Tower

Pillar III: The Empty Being Died Gray

Quick footsteps silently trudged through a hall of murky red. As Zexion, wrapped in a thick black cloak, rounded a corner, the peeling diamond designs and filthy carpets of his environment seemed to disgust him more than usual. But of course, this wasn't the case (though the mansion could use some cleaning). He had been assigned to retrieve and divide Reckard, a young boy brought from agent Number Nine. But to Zexion, he was much more than just a young boy. He was worth much more than that. With National's orders, he would be seeing his beloved friend's face once more after all this time. He stopped for a moment and stared into the dark air beyond, contemplating these thoughts. Beyond the darkness he would see the Iniquitous Halls, corridors laced with sinister being, and then onwards to the infamous Quarry, of which he knew next to nothing about.

There had been rumors that the Quarry was where all of the Department's gold was. It had the perfect setup-nobody except National and his importants could get through the controversial security corridor to even attempt a heist on the organization. That was ruled out, however, when he made a special announcement that the Quake Vault (some far off mountain in Fiore) was indeed the collection of the group's funds. Others (mostly the jealous) said that according to the number ranking (every member was given was a number by National and the lower the number the higher the rank) it was the mostly likely location of the Top Ten's meetings. The Top Ten were hand-selected the moment they joined based on pure presence alone. Only ten were allowed, and those who got in usually were given extra treatment by National's Gatherer's, and National himself. It was another obviously clever observation—the Top Ten made the Quarry to conduct their private meetings, and discuss futures (or so was thought). The Prospector spoke against it by saying he gave every member equal authority and open affection upon level. He said there were very little secrets in the Department of Annoh, and the secrets that were, were vitally important. Nonetheless, it remained a popular theory and so many had settled upon it. Zexion never had a second thought about it previously, but he did pick up a peculiar piece of information upon his first year. National never said anything about it to the public, as much he knew, but he once heard in passing of one 'Gatherer' that the Quarry's magical presence had become disrupted in accordance with the Halls.

He never dwelled more on it until now, and nor did it last long on it before Reckard came flooding back to his mind. The pounding imminence of his unmoving body screening the corners of his eyes became more and more real. The darkness swirled around him, his body heating up every moment. He saw Reckard running towards him in a brown sweatshirt with the hood up, arms outstretched. Zexion opened his own arms unconditionally and felt a stream of cool happiness sweep away the worried feeling. He closed his eyes and expected a warm person to curl around him, to show him everything was fine, but instead heard a flurry of footsteps from the hardwood flooring ahead. A small, orange dot was running towards him and was growing bigger and bigger by the second. He saw a bit of the person's shaking face as they came nearer, and it looked like it was soaked in bottomless stress. It shot forward and revealed itself as an unknown to Zexion. She wore a pair of light vanilla caprices with three clear, white ribbons tied around one limb, a distinct, orange t-shirt and had an uncontrolled tail of auburn locks trailing down her back. She ran past him without a second thought, and his concern subsided for the moment.

_Number Nine_, he thought disappointedly as a stray ribbon floated meaninglessly beside him. She was running away from the dark regions of unknown, towards the light of National's protection, he thought sternly as her footsteps began to fade. But a third year agent scared? That couldn't be. He heard among rumors that upon the third year of an agent's time in the Department, nothing overwhelmed them. It was said they learned all the company's true originations, all it's meticulously livid powers. Apparently, these secrets horrified most, or at least put them within a deep core of solitude for a couple weeks. But all the cases were the same—never again did anyone see them flinch with the organization's walls. It was legend that those who stayed to work for the company after they had accomplished their goals did so only out of pure intimidation. Paranoia that the company was too dangerous to leave. He was sure he wouldn't stay another year here to experience such horrors, thought Zexion. How terrible could the Department be? But then a brilliant idea came to him. _What if that's what's in the Quarry! Those powerful, mystifying secrets of magical sentry that aided the Department for ages! _He may just be a second year, but one could only imagine what he could summon with the Quarry on his side! National made it clear that only third years could wade in this pool of knowledge, though he never said why. Many suspected it was of trust, and that since people rarely stayed at the organization for more than two years, only the scarce third years could be trusted with such ability. But that was all null and void within Zexion's narrow mind. _That_ was why National sent him to the Quarry, to use its celestial instruments of power to sound Reckard's royal return!

His high of imperial glee faded at these last words. Reckard. Saulkia was charged with obtaining Reckard. Now Saulkia was running away, not even bothering to update status with him! How could he be such an idiot, to forget about Reckard in such a time of terrible worry and distress? Reckard was just sitting there like a lame duck, unprotected by his impish, cowardly guardian. His eyes narrowed to a thin amber, and he threw a fierce scowl towards the last shimmer of orange slowly being drowned out in black behind him. How dare that orangey little imbecile leave Reckard defenseless, uncared for, a still dart target, an enormous archery post, a colossal—but he stopped. Unprotected, uncared for. Hopelessness, defenselessness—what if he wandered, self-destructing along the mansion's winding corridors right at the moment! He forgot about the sinister actions of Nine for the moment and darted into the black smoke onward, desperate to get to Reckard's probably curse ridden body in time.

--

Her footsteps quickly silenced as the shaggy carpet of the mansions core routes re-established itself. Saulkia was sweating profusely as brown thickets of hair avidly swayed in and out of her vision. Today was simply not her day. This was an extremely important operation—the first of such a kind since the Rune Council incident—and so many things had gone wrong within the first couple of days. She remembered what seemed like a century ago, the date of her mission profile. She had to follow through with Thirteen and Twelve on the main dispatch, but she alone was charged with the object's arrival. National ordered her involvement specifically, apparently, and was prepared to take special attention to the entire case as well. She remembered asking him a flurry of questions just a trio of months before on the pick up particularly, with questions like 'Why not twelve/thirteen too?' and 'What of the Gatherers?' and was answered with the same lackluster response _"It would raise suspicion."_

Suspicion? Even from her own teammates? The mission never seemed like that big of a deal—pick up and drop off the boy from an undisclosed location, enact the dispatch. But then again, he never told her the exact purpose of the mission. Just vague, disheveled answers that filled Saulkia with mass amounts of unsatisfaction. He never mentioned any kind of kid before in their meetings. He never talked to the Gatherers about it, for his name never appeared on the always-monitored conversation tombs. But truly, she knew she cared very little about what National wanted. Maybe that's why he chose her—she never asked too many questions to be a nuisance. But even so, it kept nagging her mind why he chose her in the first place. She was nothing terribly special; just a fairly low member of the Top Ten and a rather feisty attitude from her peer's mission reports. But then again, a determined person wasn't too rare anymore these days; everyone seemed excited about the Department's attributes now. The idea that anything could be accomplished through the Department's virtue was just becoming the new fad. But then a curious flicker of thought ran through Saulkia's head. The mission was an awfully strange one—she knew what she could get out of it, but she felt strange longing for what her future partners could get out the bizarrely unique charge. But with these thoughts, she suddenly realized how slow her walk was and what a dream-like state she was in. She burst forward in desperation, eager to reclaim lost mileage caused by her foolish musings.

_No, no, no!_ She couldn't be so idle at a time like this! Her jog grew slowly into a flurry of darting steps, and eventually a lightning sprint. Treachery was afoot! Someone was trying to sabotage the mission; she had to get to National quickly! Saulkia couldn't believe her luck. First, she was forced to dash out of her communications booth with about as much as a few minutes estimation and then find that her objective was already in the possession of the other player! That's not to mention that awful Fearow—such a barbaric, reckless creature. He _had_ to be so hostile in detention, didn't he? So aggressive she couldn't touch him with her Sunset Gloves and be forced to ignite a K.I.L.L instead, a brainwasher that almost pelt the mission's doom! She looked uncertainly down on her light cherry and golden gloves basking it's pristine aura.

They had been given to her long ago, three years ago when she joined the Department. Gifts from National himself, apparently. Said it might make up for her troubles. They were made of an extremely soft topaz cloth, nit perfectly to suit her wrist and fingers. They were sparkled with pallid glitter, each streak of light bouncing off them feeling significantly ancient and understanding. Its peachy thread was of the elusive granite yarn, fresh and unyielding power coursing through its stems. She thought was quite a peculiar gift at the time—a surely 100,000 yen pair of gloves given to a normally unrecognizable girl. She tried to decline, but National insisted she take them, and they remained grudgingly hers. But that was before she found out about their powers. With a streaming essence of magic from the Department itself at her fingertips, she could soothe any animal she pleased with a simple stroke of their fur.

A simple stroke. Just one touch! She mentally hit herself as she remembered how foolish it was to listen to the organization techs. Since when was she so recessive to listen to someone else's advice on unorthodox training methods? Now look at her, blitzing to their boss's office while those two hooligans might be reorganizing whatever sinister plots they were trying to unfold. What was National thinking, putting all these things on top of her? Not to mention she was expected to meet her equals and join the main dispatch the next day! Next he'll be asking, _"Oh Saulkia, your late. Please, will you do your several hour exercise with Golem already and get on with moving that several thousand pound cinderblock to me for a footrest. Psh, sometimes I just think you're not worth the effort."_ For some reason, she seemed to see this image far clearer than one should have.

She swiftly rounded another corridor plastered with hardwood flooring. Just down this hallway would be the route to National's study. _Finally_, she beamed. A shield to purge her of her worries. Her eyes began to grow weary and tired as more and more darkness faded out of view. She deserved to be tired, after what she'd been through. That was why she slightly doubted the small blurb of silver that appeared up ahead the ink-tainted hall. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her palm and it seemed to have grown ten times larger than when she saw it before, slowly forming into an open armed humanoid. _But of course_, she thought quickly. _Thirteen. _Of course, he was scheduled to meet National that day. _I've got to--make a good—impression_, she thought obstinately as she scrambled about herself, raking her fingers though her hair and adjusting the crinkled ribbons on her leg until one eventually fell off. She put on a glorious expression to meet her new partner, but then noticed only still darkness ahead. She passed him without even knowing it! She looked back distressed and saw the blur fade slowly fading away into the dark, unmoved by her appearance.

"I…I hope I looked good." She stuttered glumly as she let her let mass trail of coffee locks fall unbinding from the tight bout of hair she prepared in such short notice. National's faded, auburn door just barely stood out in the billowing darkness ahead, it's withered opening creaking ever so slightly into the scattered light of his apartment. What else could go wrong, she thought with a sigh. This had to be the pinnacle of awfulness, the absolute worst point of sufferings. Nothing could surpass the fact she completely ignored National's advice, following a group of newbie techs instead, and that her partner probably thought she was a complete ribbon obsessed, messy and distraught third year that still managed to get scared by the dark. _No_, her better judgment presumed, _that couldn't be the case. _National had assured her that her acquaintances were overflowing with colorful personalities and would in no way look down on her. Yes. Her teammates were good, very trustworthy. At last convinced, she gave a glistening grin towards the final wisp of silver in the night, but was quickly replaced with a gaping frown by the shocking sight she received. He was scowling at her. She turned back around, and felt more anxious than ever to get to National's safety zone. Things just weren't going her way today.

--

After the several minutes of thought required to make it through the endless hallway, Zexion realized he shouldn't have been so hard on Nine. She was a dedicated third year; she wouldn't leave her mission behind so quickly and without any signs of a struggle. Going back to her image, however, he noticed her ribbons seemed quite ruffled, but stopped there with all persecutions of the agent. Nine had to have some satisfying number of qualities for National to pick her for such an important mission. Loyalty, strength, an intuition perhaps. All were needed for the day ahead. No, no! He couldn't just mull over his future teammates ability while Reckard still lay unprotected! He was still darting down the rippled black during these thoughts, despite his beloved's justified security.

Darkness began to fade as he gracefully skimmed the shining floors below (greatly trumping the earlier carpets). More lamps had been laced along the walls and ceilings, and soon he could see the corner ahead leering closer with every breath. The ripped, peeling diamond designs that once rued so horribly on the walls around him were replaced with smooth, glistening emblems of tangerine, the newly coned lights emanating the same glow of unrelenting safety from it's sheltered glass. Just beyond the corner, that would be it. He would be there waiting for him by the portal of destiny, clueless and unsophisticated as always. _Destiny_, he thought absentmindedly. He hadn't thought much of that like he usually did. He exchanged wonderings of Reckard's fate for the ignorant longing of the bliss his soft, emerald eyes would invoke. As the turn came only a few wistful steps away from him, his mind felt wiped of all feeling.

There he was. Draped in his glum, lilac t-shirt and crumpled jeans, his eyes sealed dreamily with enigma and leaning lifelessly onto the platinum black window behind him. His eyes flickered momentarily to the grand windows frame; a sterling bronze and silver arch of brilliance easily the size of the wall, but was quickly drawn into an intent gaze on the sleepy, innocent face of Reckard instead. He walked forward a few steps, his eyes a soft amber, and wide. Nothing changed. He was still the same age as him, by the looks of it. His shadow died locks still waved lustily in the air as quick, unnoticeable breaths slowly lifted his chest up and down. Finally, he was here. His only friend, his most affectionate guardian, lying helplessly in a cave splattered with invisible sorrows. Time moved unbearably slow, each passing minute choking him with stony heartbeats, his body standing as stiff as an inanimate statue. He couldn't stand it anymore; his feet broke loose of their chains of frozen shock and Zexion rushed forward ecstatically, so many thoughts pulsing though his heart as a desperately needy expression quickly formed on his face. Unimaginable joy soared through him despite his trips and tumbles on the way to it's epicenter, his brain stopping him for a moment to try and make logic of the situation, but easily being overwhelmed when he rammed Reckard's poorly attended shell with an unbreakable, never-ending hug.

After a series of several minutes he finally released from the other's tarnish-clothed chest, savoring every second his hands slid off his icy cold skin. Every one of his dreams was correct, alive at last. Nothing could ruin anything now—he had jumped into a pool of infinite happiness as soon as he saw his illustrious face. Only one more thing could make it fantastically true. One last pair of brilliant ivy green orbs, so buzzing with luscious entity, had to be met.

To look into those eyes would give him everything he so awfully needed. Reckard was here, overjoyed by Zexion's final rejoice, each flowing naturally with the wonderful beauty his dizzying green orbs invoked. The card of hope he had so dearly wished to draw from his inner deck was about to be drawn—Reckard was here, confused and bewildered at the least, but here with him at last. He looked up from his firm thoughts on the ground, expecting an obviously relieved and soothing expression on his beloved friend, but instead found his lids tightly bound and a sluggish face responding to Zexion's undisputed signs of glee. In his rapid charge of cheerfulness he had completely forgotten that the body before him was indefinitely unconscious by Nine's hand. Blank feelings invaded and dispersed the previous crowds of wonder in his mind to far off corners, taking up it's earlier position of untapped delight reserved for Reckard's arrival. Those eyes meant so much to him. What was locked behind those misty sheaths of skin? Death? Misery? What extraordinary mysteries those irises concentrated deep within their cores, he would never know. Acute waves of sadness echoed through the greatly disturbed patron, overcoming him so much that he barely heard the small jingle his headphone messenger activated on alert of a memo. It kept ringing, but Zexion showed no detection of its presence. A narrow screen was printed on the bud, and the name 'National' appeared in small, yellow letters in a rolling marquee, accompanied by his low, slightly anxious tone of voice.

"_Thirteen, Number Nine has informed me of me of an intruder in this operation. According to her reports, he has already breached through the Dream Frame with a well-trained Skarmory and was planning to exit through the mansion with an Iris Seal upon the objective…eh, Reckard. It seems he managed to break into our network of magical essence, a feat I believe to be quite challenging for an unknown assailant. Because of this, Reckard's core has been temporarily frozen, but I believe that once we have him secured, he shall recover in time for the dispatch. L _did_ manage to critically injure this opponent, however, but I am uncertain to how long this peace will last. I have taken the necessary precautions—Nine shall be on the lookout in case of any more disruptions, just please get to the Quarry quickly! You may leave of your own accord for preparations of tomorrow, preferably as quick as you can." _

A spark of uncontrollable anger surged through him with the hearings of National's final words, magnifying his wave of melancholy to extreme levels. _An intruder spotted within the vicinity of the Dream Frame_, his thoughts snarled bitterly. Only one person would know how to beat the Dream Frame. The only one in the Department who managed to create such sinister inventions as the one he had locked away. The only one cruel enough to command dreams themselves. "RHODES!!!" His dark, vicious tone rose out from the child-like happiness of before like a burning arrow through a wall of smoke, echoing throughout the entire mansion. "Rhodes planned it all! He-he took everything away and now he's trying to do it again!" Hot streaks of anger burned through him as he spoke that horrible, disgusting name. 'He's going to steal all that's left—every hope and dream—he'll destroy them!!" He aimed his wildly erratic eyes in total anxiety towards the other boy's supple image, and felt an overwhelming sensation of protection. He avidly cupped his cheek and stared passionately into the narrow slits the Iris Seal had created. "He'll try to-to…No-no!! N-Never again!!" He tried holding it in, but even his determination couldn't stop the tears from welling up inside him and eventually rolling down his cheeks in harsh reality. His fist grew tighter and tighter with every word, his anger sizzling hotter and hotter until a sudden burst of artic cold quickly shot through his arms, chilling his stoic heart to the vessel.

He glanced around with a sullen face, relinquishing the last signs of depression from his face. All the rotten stoking of fury vanished, his meaningless tsunami of sadness slowly curling into a small uplift of the soul. He gazed down emptily at his hands, and found himself clutching a familiar, diamond blue blade in which his reflection was shooting a wonderful grin at him. His mirror was walking along watery surface with this cheery attitude, full of shadows and unclear to the modern eye. It walked farther into it's enigma until it eventually found itself stopping at a grand, silver pedestal and twirling his fingers about a simplistic, golden chain and locket, dizzily staring off into space. The empty emotions fled at once and were replaced with crushing surges of fear and utter frailness towards the sword. His chest pounded like drums with stinging twinges of pain between each breath, his hand shaking violently against the barely grasped handle. Then, he could no longer bear—he let out a terrific cry and whipped the sword into the air, the blade's edge blitzing towards the seamless wall behind him. But much to Zexion's short-lived surprise, it vanished inside a cloud of glittering smoke just as its peak made contact with the chipping wallpaper.

He slowly stumbled back up, and stared stolidly ahead. Reckard was all that mattered. He was everything to him. He would never let Rhodes near Reckard again; he would protect him to the very end of existence. He slowly soaked up his remaining tears with the sleeve of his cloak and stood emptily in front of the black glass window above Reckard's head. It gave him an uneasy feeling as he stared back down, thought of the matters ahead. _Beyond the portal lie the Halls. _His eyes spoke with soft compassion. "The Quarry is waiting for us." He said aloud, and slowly lifted Reckard up to his side, limping towards the miraculous window of black.

--

Saulkia raced down the final corridor, leaving Zexion's scowl fleetingly in the darkness. She had certain intuition about this road. The office would be up ahead, no doubt. The mystery had to be notified, discussed! She couldn't believe her ignorance today, though. How in the world was she supposed to explain this to National? Although a slight worried, she eventually spotted a chipped doorway slightly opening and placed dissolutely in-between an unceremonious fork in the path. Her face lit up with alertness (and a bit of dread) and she eagerly barged through the doorway without any second thoughts. Over in the far corner of a lighter sect of the apartment, National was slowly unfurling a deep red banner from his olive skin on top of a light brown bed. He looked surprisingly content and very satisfied with the mission so far until Saulkia's unanticipated: "Hey!" made him jump and startlingly rush into the darkness before giving an angry "Nine! What is the meaning of this!?" in counteraction. She bent down and quickly stumbled into the nearby bench in front of his desk, out of breath and her ribbons starting to droop.

"Glad to see you too." She drearily responded. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a very peculiar sight for an agent of her stature. National was hunched over, scurrying together his multicolored straps back onto his face, small thatches of thick auburn hair peaking out of it's colorful restraints. Darkness shrouded all but the sides of his well-oiled skin, but Saulkia was sure she saw a small, beating red pupil stare piercingly back into her distressed orbs. She tried ignoring it, but such a mesmerizing sight made her slightly disappointed at his eventual recovery.

"Never come unannounced into my study again, never!" He barked loudly as he tightened his last crimson piece. "What in the world could have made you act in such an order?"

Upon this approval of speech, Saulkia wasted no time and immediately burst out, "An intruder! I-I didn't know what to do, sir, I just—Fearow and—destroyed the thing—and-" But a calming had lifted by her leader injected the response with cool silence. His frown brought a certain presence of dread to her, but she quickly continued after noticing her previous speech was far too accelerated. "Well, I sent Fearow away onto the mission, and…eh, at first, everything was fine." A distained nod nudged continuation. "And I, I mean Fearow, of course, was attacked by, um, something."

National raised an eyebrow at this last claim. Fearow was where very few got to be. "What did it look like?" He asked suspiciously. Saulkia stuttered a bit before answering. She didn't realize situation; her leader would never abandon her because of one, tiny little mishap. Still, the imposing presence of her superior's judgment made her shake. "A Hyper Beam almost destroyed Fearow. I-I remember when we were passing by, the Dream Frame's Particle Wall was in critical condition on the radar chart." His eyes widened at the end of her quickly scrambled sentence and he looked at her with sudden concern.

"A Hyper Beam? Did you pursue?" He questioned eagerly.

"Of-Of course." She sputtered. She nervously laced fingers together as her intimidation of the Prospector grew. "Well, we got there and it turned out to be a Skarmory. We noticed it had a memo radio, and it looked very worn and out of energy—the definite side effects of a well conjured Hyper Beam." Her racing emotions momentarily quelled their incessant anxiety after observing his lofty expression. But much more intriguing calculations were being made than his face suggested. _A Skarmory! Incredible._

"Go on! Was there any confrontation? Did they try to lead you off the Frame?"

"Well, sir, a fight did ensue but they did not attempt to lure us into the blue void. We encountered a small confrontation and then something intensely strange happened. My radar map shattered instantaneously with Skarmory's sudden transportation several feet in the air, and within no more of a second's range! Surely, you-?"

"Hm. It outsmarted you." He chuckled humorlessly, slowly returning to his ambiguous position among the honeyed lounge chair, interlocking his hands with a dark interest. "These charts of ours were made to register the movements of the foolish and abrupt. They stay in our field arsenal and not in our offices because one aspect of the machine makes it completely vulnerable to those specialized in stealthy practices. Why, merely move inch by inch down a radar invested hallway and you wouldn't get caught once. I believe whoever taught this little secret had to be from within. But no matter,. I assume Fearow covered this weakness, correct?" Saulkia covered her insecurity at these words with a strangely spontaneous and nervous laugh, waiting a couple breaths in un-anticipation. "No sir. I wisely ordered the…" But her voice trailed off in a fit off uneasiness as National overarching influence presided, prodding her continuation with the chilling air around her. "…The Kastryme Illicle Level Learning device to be charged on him. I had not reacted in time, so Fearow couldn't do anything until it was already too late." National's frown suddenly evolved in a menacing scowl and he leaped out of his comfortable position on the couch.

"You ordered K.I.L.L for a rebel Fearow!? Do you not realize the powers I have bestowed you!' His face scrunched up with fury as he instinctively crossed his arms and walked over to Saulkia's side with an imperial glare. "Let me assume what happened next. It flew quite a bit of distance and L sat there like an idiot until you finally realized what happened, right?" His voice was choked with bitterness.

"Yes, sir." She spoke carefully, keeping her head low and mumbling onwards. "We did, however, catch up. But it seems that as a result, the K.I.L.L had broken off his wing when he was charged by one of his more powerful attacks."

"The samewho preformed the almost soul obliterating Hyper Beam?" Hissed National iniquitously, his voiced laced with malice.

"Correct, sir." She said lamely. "He acted of his own accord after he destroyed the device, leaving me blank for a substantial period of time."

"He despised, of course. He must have known you were planning to charge it with one, or else I'm sure he wouldn't feel so betrayed to destroy his only landline. But really, Saulkia, why didn't you the gloves as I had recommended many times over?" He stated flatly, his tone a slight less ferocious than what she previously encountered.

She made a small frown, and adverted his piercing eyes. She knew National would punish her for this, she knew it! Why couldn't he just be satisfied that she and L had survived _while _getting the objective here on time? Just how frustrated did she have to get to pacify him! But his rather angry stomp interrupted her further complaints and she grudgingly replied, "I was told it was too powerful to get near for the glove's power to be effective. It seems it became extremely aggravated when taken back into its pokeball, no one dared recall it." Her insides quivered with anxiousness, eager to get out of the old environment. National merely sat for a moment or two, dull, mean looking eyes glaring her down. Eventually, he slowly reached beside his desk and into a lime green duffle bag filled to the brim with a strange collection of white and red spheres, each with a light cerulean button placed firmly in the center. A tightly bound hand of scarlet and ginger quickly snatched a certain ball with a large black L painted along its dome.

He gave Saulkia a lowly glare, and playfully twirled the ball in his orange and pink drenched fingers. And without shifting intimidation, he aimed the blue button's tip up to the ceiling and stated calmly, "Brown Sky." A brilliant red beam instantly shot out of the aqua switch, passing through the shadowy ceiling and out of view. Saulkia twitched her left eye as the perplexing quickly swivel back into its circle, and jumped to her feet in fretfulness.

"Sir, I really don't think this is a good idea!" He slowly turned to her, unchanged in his reflecting frown, before throwing her the vibrant sphere with a quick flick of the wrist. She was taken greatly off guard and just managed to keep the slippery ball in her hands as it slid up and around her palms. She distressingly looked over National's smirking apparatus.

"Open it," he ordered briskly. She bit her lip and moved like a language bound by sight. You can't be serious, she whined. He'll explode. Don't be a fool. The man ruffled his brow at this last gesture. No, he didn't particularly like being called a fool. "Open it now, or be dispelled!" She closed her eyes and realized nothing could sway National at this high an arrogance level. He rarely dispelled members, but when he threatened it, he meant it. She wondered dismally what her fate would be as she gently unhinged the upper sheath of metal. After all that gruesome K.I.L.L did to it? Who knows. But it _did_ do battle with a Skarmory recently, so it's beak couldn't be too sharp.

A fantastic white light spurted out of the domed device at the dull floor below. A great mass of energy was summoned out of where the beam once was, rippling with dark waves of auburn and cranberry red. Each sheet of color slowly carved itself into a keenly designed set of feathers, eventually forming the image of a robust hawk in an upright seat of power. It's glistening image looked at Saulkia with a remarkably still emotion, and a sigh of relief came over her. This was shattered as the remaining light released itself into nothingness and the collection of rich crimson and ginger wings sparkled with all it's beauty as the light that bounced off his tall, red spike amplified everything around it. The girl quickly raised her arms in retaliation. _That idiot_, she thought viciously. The next feeling she expected was a spear of feathered pain to break through her meager shield of defenselessness, but instead felt a soft, cottony feeling of joy brush against her skin.

The animal was circling her with deep, loving bows, adding a thoughtful nudge every now and again. It floated gracefully, seemingly revitalized and joyous, shocking Saulkia almost as much as the intruder did. "The pokeball…" National began in his usual gray undertone, "…Is a mere machine, Saulkia. The essence of the Celestials reach to the very heart, and by touching a pokeball, it bypasses any technical protection and whatever being that lays inside it is instantly refreshed and adoring to your heed. You've had those gloves for what, two years now?" She gazed longingly at the Fearow (the shock slowly wearing off now) for a measure of sympathy, but all he did was chirp a jolly tune. "Your ignorance disgusts me. The Dream Frame gives all this power and look at how poorly you spend it." She wanted to scream out a series of particularly nasty things at him, but the shot of red whizzing past her head and absorbing the bird silenced her anger. It zapped back to the button on National's 'pokeball' and he said, "You were blank for a substantial duration of the mission. What was shown on your home radar chart, or did you forget about that too?"

She glared angrily at his smooth dialogue, sparking a flame inside her ocean of doubts. Of course she remembered that, what idiot wouldn't! _Look at him_, she thought hotly, _acting so superior. What would he do in that situation? Stay huddled up in his little trinkets, probably. _"I kept a close watch on that scanner, actually. It showed Fearow igniting a very skilled Hyper Beam upon the Skarmory." National straightened up from his seat, his eyes growing with mild interest at the fact. "It was sent spiraling down into the blue void, apparently finished. Upon my second inspection, however, I noticed that it's inner gravity spiked at the last second, enough to substantially cushion the impact. . I believe it will rise on the surface after an hour or two at the very least." His gaze of supremacy sharply reduced to a small whimper in her wave of statistics. He was slightly surprised that Saulkia had calculated something that advance in such a tense situation. She gave a small smirk and asked, "So what do we do now, sire?" He hesitated in her sudden directness. He expected very little from her, but now he just realized they almost got caught in a raid when the mansion was most vulnerable.

He quickly gathered the strength presiding inside those strong-hearted and said, "We cannot leave a Skarmory within Jadiack City's vicinity. We have already inflicted too much damage." His confidence trembled as continued the deliberation. "We shall exit the blue void immediately, and proceed to Johto as planned."

Saulkia's newfound unruliness lit up with excitement and interjected with a fiery voice, "And let him go in the Kanto Pacific? We have to strike quickly, while they're still vulnerable!" She pounded her fist on his desk in demonstration.

The other waved her fist away and barked, "No! I will never allow any others into the void! My judgment is final, do you understand Nine?"

She shot a vicious scowl at his banners and grunted rudely, "Yeah, sire." Both exchanged enraged, impending glances until National's slightly pitched voice broke the monotony.

"You may go, Saulkia." He stated tiredly flickering his hand forward to signal her leave. She stood bravely, challenging his authority with a fierce glare. He put one hand to his forehand and responded jadedly, "You may GO, Saulkia."

She straightened up, and asked with a provocative tone, "Do you have any idea who the assailant might be, National?"

The man jumped from his seat and pointed to the door instantaneously. "You are in no position to be requesting Grade J briefing, Nine! Take your leave at once!" She blinked thoughtfully, her seething complaints cooling at the sound of his overridden complaints, strangely observing the room. So in clear awareness, she smoothed her silky brown hair backwards, revealing a pair of scintillating violet orbs, quickly retreating in preparation for tomorrow.

-

Zexion carefully kneeled down, gathering Reckard's sleepy shell while staring blankly at the shadowy window before him. It was a grand site, very wide and stretching from side to side in its dazzling silver frame. He moved forward a bit, Reckard's feet dragging in somber form. He skimmed the glass slowly with the tips of his fingers and took in solemn thought. Everything turned out to be the complete opposite of what he imagined. Everything seemed hopeless, ridden with despair. But _No_, he had to be strong. He had to optimistic about this. But he could feel something wrong slithering behind the gate of reflective jewel. But of course, this was no surprise. Behind this would be the swarthy interval between him and the Iniquitous Halls. He shifted uneasily at its name, taking in a sharp bite of air. He remembered long ago when he first joined the Department and National gave his eerie description of it. Eternally being, a force never to be disrupted. A vortex of doubt for those whose ignorance overwhelms. Just like physical malice. Just like Rhodes. He threw a fierce kick to the plated surface in rambunctious spasm, the harmonious clouds behind the glass wall swirling in deep bounds of purple. "Iniquitous Halls, upon National's request!" He snarled angrily. The thick, swarthy air around Zexion quickly joined the whirlpool of lavender, the frame simultaneously glowing a sensational gold. It had removed the glass protection and black mist flooded the small room and the couple inside it.

Zexion suddenly found himself engulfed in charcoal smoke, a stream of icy wind buffeting his every move and the mansion walls slowly slid out of view. His head started aching, and his breath began to shorten by the minute. It felt like he was trapped in a tornado of strange and foreign throbs and pains. But a blitz of pure shamrock burst through the gloomy oxygen, wisping away the smoke around him until only he and the start of another corridor was left. He scoured his sides hopefully to see if Reckard had strayed, but he fortunately stayed clinging onto his robe. He fell to the ground in distress and clutched his heart in anxiety. The portal was the only way to travel through some of the more exclusive floors of the mansion, he knew that, but it's unusual teleportation techniques seemed to take a bigger toll on his health than the others. He stumbled back up and gazed avidly around him, still recovering the experience. The darkness was growing. Not a physical one, but something that seemed to extend in vile streams from each corner of the hall.

The floors and walls were identically coated in a shining black. The once lackluster symbols of scarlet were replaced with fantastic, gold diamond emblems, each reflecting oceans of light onto the looming mirror above. To Zexion, it's glittering symbols and warm atmosphere were all facades to the echoing pain he felt within his inner consciousness. Devastating evil beyond content vibrated thistly throughout the corridor, slightly altering his internal flow of entity. He took a deep breath, and continued onwards despite. _One more trial_, he thought longingly. The revival was almost here. The shimmering marks around him endlessly emanated it's pristine glow, a light, Zexion thought, just had to be conjured out of some unholy essence. As he walked closer, a small, weakly strung had revealed itself though night-like atmosphere, looming ominously above him. "Beware the Iniquitous Being," the boy read coldly. _The Iniquitous Being_, Zexion thought fretfully. Had National forgotten something, something deafly important? He shuddered at the thought. But then he remembered he and National's conversation about the Halls, how they had gotten overgrown with dark thoughts. This 'Being' must've been the result of all those sinister feelings, every dripping, oozing intention taking on both a spiritual and physical form. Still, the luminous white script still seemed to exude the same feeling he had about the Iniquitous when he first walked into National's study. Pure terror, another terrifying secret to add to Zexion's personal list of untrustworthy demerits. He eagerly shut his eyes to escape the uncomfortable vibes this sign was exuding. But no, no physical wall could block out the haunting voices that came attached to every unwelcome ambiance. He tried scrambling together some sort of mental dome, but they easily phased through each pointless string of worry.

He felt a black diamond curl around his fist and a wave of cool, glittering blue air splash onto his face. The scrambled messages held by Zexion's psyche could no longer be detained, and a daringly beautiful voice erupted a spurt of pain in his forehead. _Invest within locked entity. Resound our grateful sorrows to its core, echo our fortune into its supple, unforgiving heart. Destroy its magi soul and cleanse the slate of virtue that contains its precious entity. _He could sense the sword's presence; it was ringing withy something powerful and imprecise. It was deep and concentrated, slithering up his arm and pretending to vanish into its foe veil of destructive script. A spark of instinct flourished this observation into one of recognition. The sword was doing it. The sword was creeping into him, trying to deliver some kind of radical instruction. But every word sent him through stinging bouts of pain, a kind of pain that only deeply locked and hidden memories could invoke. Each small splinter of thought burned this message into his brain, finally making Zexion take notice of it. It was telling him how to obliterate the Halls, each in fastidiously chosen steps. But National never told him anything about the destruction of anyone, and he felt helpless to try and execute those painfully alluring orders.

_Absolutely clueless_, the enthralling voice spoke. Without warning, his mind felt wiped all feeling and instead felt like a window of hazy remembrances. He envisioned himself back in front of National's desk, the two speaking words that seemed so distance to him now. _"Right. You don't need to tell me what to do in the Halls, I know." _But that couldn't be possible. Had he really been too mesmerized, too locked within National's disgusting interpretation of him to remember saying that? But the words felt so foreign, so ignoring of his presence; he could never imagine actually telling National what he was capable was. He just remembered waking up from his distressing illusions with the sword in his hand and an unsure decision at his side, National's approving words declaring all further instructions. The only slightly strange thing about that transaction was the barely noticeable chill he felt travel down his back, so trivial and insignificant at the time. The blade felt so at ease as he drawled about in unsure dilemma. It was like he had drained away, just hanging onto reality with the wistful silhouette his barely grasped sword gave him. It felt unnaturally familiar, like the seductive chants announcing Reckard's name had just visited him once again. He straightened up in realization, punching the air in rough frustration.

That wasn't him. Or not his will, at least. It was the sword's captivating, destructive tone that slid past his lips. He had just been so drenched in unawareness, so burrowed in his little fantasy he barely noticed the small trickle of retreat run down his back, completely ignoring the fact he had been utterly manipulated, his mind further drifting out into idiocy. The disgruntled boy jarred his back to the evocative blade; his face scrunched up in particular infuriation as he saw the image of his giggling self in the sword's reflection. _Of course_, he remembered obviously. It seemed National's warning was more literal than one might imagine. "'You must never let it consume you,'" he repeated solidly.

It felt so strange, considering what was happening. Worried about consumption, already falling into a powerful trance caused by his frail, weakly constructed heart. He just wanted run away, forever and ever from this horrible place. But such pathetic attachments kept him pinned to the oppressive spot like a dying bug, his unconscious traveler of which he so longed to see and comfort, gone until tomorrow. It tortured him to no end, the ripping sadness that made him hover closer and closer to the Quarry, such inquiries of the future feeling so meaningless at the moment. Whydid he have to go anywhere!? Why couldn't he just wait for Reckard to thaw here, to wait so he could finally be with him! He felt like breaking out in a cascade of tears, finally releasing all his troubled worries with every drop. But no moisture fell onto his satin gloves. Something was quickly converting all his pent up grief into pure and complete detachedness. His mouth felt dray and choked with blocked sorrow, even his thoughts feeling slightly hard to accomplish. _It's doing it again. Feeding_, he thought with the smallest shade of remorse. It was breaking through him, trying to take control once more. He vaguely remembered the process the dark sword took upon it's last feeding. It would scrub away all painful emotions, and try to inject him with the false feelings of either nothingness or mindless glee. He tried to refill his brooding status, but the blade's paranormal binds quickly destroyed the invading thoughts, clearly in threat of troubling its archive of control. He gave a violent stare towards the sword in short-lived anger. A pair of curious, amber eyes gawked right back at him like he was a kanga in the zoo, totally entranced by the creature's unsatisfaction after figuring out all the little puzzles and tricks that had been set up for him.

He wanted to hit those intruding, imperial eyes. He wanted to bounce that blasphemous sword off the ground harder and harder, only stopping to break it sharply in half with an interjection of his foot. He hoped blistering, electric shards darted out from the breach and fly out in all directions, stabbing the oppressive walls with all their sharp pointed fury. But all intentions withered away within a mater of seconds, and Zexion found himself bided by invisible chains, stolidly indifferent of his distressful situation. It forced him to the ground and placed a misleadingly sadistic frown upon him. The Halls were amplifying its power. Whatever powerful entity lay ahead in the engulfing bellows ahead could relate with the sinister force at hand, the boy suspected silently. He could feel the Quarry's power easily break away from the chalky and indistinct virtue of the Halls. It's smooth, lulling pulse slowly came into unison of his own, the two intertwining with rich, outstanding peace. For a moment, it felt extremely nice, the feeling always reestablishing itself before quickly washing away. His soul, however, felt undernourished and weak. It wanted to flourish and it struggled to divide from the lowly being of Zexion. But Zexion wanted division too; not from his soul, but the crushing light around him. Within the physical world, light scarcely stayed to dimly lift the atmosphere with its eerie presence. But on the spiritual plain, explosions of shining yellow came with every tainted cloud of darkness, the diamond sword in hand being the only thing keeping him from being washed away.

He wanted to harness this extreme power; maybe National would reward him for it. But he couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. The swords free, unrelenting cascade of entity slipped his train of thought, even as it stayed so tightly next to him. The Quarry felt infinitely better now. He could embrace its unnatural presence: it felt spellbound, forever blazing. He needed to join that never–ending stream; he and Reckard had to release from the awful elements around them. He grunted his way back up, and snatched Reckard's hand tightly.

To let something eat him up would be so easy. It would be endlessly clean, tunneled inside an unlimited supply of joy. When unwillingly trapped inside something, maybe your only scope of existence was nothing short of happiness to be alive. Maybe it replaced every painful memory with delighted, perfect healing. Yes, that was all true. Something was telling him such facts with exact precision. Facts wrapped around beautiful whispers, a long, mysterious sigh flowing after every sentence. He'd love life then; his soul would never want to escape from something so fantastic. Wasn't this all he ever asked for? This undying, forever feeling? Maybe he could release himself in a different than with the Quarry, a way in which he could personally erase all his hidden fury and despair. _It feels so good,_ he thought with a passionate expression. So unworldly real. Like a gurgling fire that blazed quick and silkily no one would want to put out. That was just as he felt something abysmally cool slide down his back, like a refreshing quench of water, slowly engulfing his back in pleasure.

It sounded like a waterfall in slow motion, swiftly erasing any ounce of strength within him with its lulling essence. Another glob-like being dribbled down his side, also instilling him with that rich, irresistible sensation. His eyes blurred in ecstasy. It felt slightly heavy, but ever so glossy and soft. He arched backwards, eagerly trying to absorb more of the slime onto his noticeably unnourished skin. Every wave of luxury seemed to chip off something from him. Something harsh and clingy, but he didn't bother to dwell further into himself to figure out. Not now, never now. His wiser side vaguely why he was floating in such a monstrous pool of ash, why bright gray streaks pulsed lovingly up above his head. But the scattered memories that danced mockingly out of him made these observations meaningless and completely null of his interest. He didn't need such petty remembrances now, not when he gained something far more precious. A free, undisturbed peace he could have never obtained otherwise. It wiped away all perception, coating him in a field purged of accusations, especially the idea that this pool was in any way dangerous. A small price to pay for such a power.

Everything was still. Complete. He felt nothing but foreign strings of glee, and never did he wish to fall out of such a destructive pattern. Not like there was anything that could disrupt its perfect stream, utterly free of complications. Flawless, oozing drops agreed, and soaked him in indescribable love, making the next unfortunate act to happen feel much worse. A different drop of goo dribbled onto his platinum locks, an extremely stand out white compared to the color around it. For Zexion, this description could be used in more ways than one. This wasn't the pure, excruciating comfort he had come to so easily expect over the last several minutes. It was cold; cold enough to cool the ember of delight within him to a mere fizzle, quickly spreading throughout his body and chilling him to the bone. The blackness around him was no longer the soft, cottony substance he had come to adore. It was rough and scaly, nearly crushing his arms with its now ridiculous weight. He wriggled spastically, somehow expecting to regain some of the wonderful ooze he so desperately needed after such a devastating withdrawal, but it proved fruitless to his efforts. It was if he was a Cate' hopelessly trying to break from it's cage of pitiful reassurances.

But at that exact moment, the axis of memory began to weave itself back to its owner. There was someone waiting for him at this unknown palace…the Department's palace. National was going to wait for him near the Quarry. He felt a pang of unwelcome guilt overcome him as the oncoming pain made him cringed. He didn't want to recover these horrible, disgusting memories. He didn't want to meet National again and tell him he failed; that he completely fell victim to his mutinous gift even before he gave his warning. He didn't want to care about the orange-coated auburn that raced past just so earlier that day, nor the luxurious breezes of air she reminded him of in Johto. _No!_ He didn't _want_ to remember National or Rhodes or Nine or Twelve! But the flood could not be stopped. More and more recollection swept back into him; all in frighteningly crystal clear images. He reopened his eyes, frantically searching for some kind of familiar comfort. But he was shocked to find that instead of his beloved black slime, mounds of purple sand was now perfectly binding him in place. Even as it's grainy texture spread over his body like a thousand pound blanket, the excess sand behind him was quickly slithering to engulf his vulnerable and untouched cranium. He wanted to thrash about his prison like before, but strength no longer came. He felt like going insane, breaking out his furious internal energy by rapidly jabbing the sand around him into tiny piles of lavender. But instead, he felt bound and helpless, a feeling he'd been experiencing a lot lately. It felt so much like before. Just before the Memory Sword took control. _No, no, no! Not the Memory Sword, not all this time! _But it was too late to try and push back every undesirable occurrence. Everything was coming back, even the cruelest and most betraying of his thoughts crawling back to him for a safe haven. But he didn't want anything to come back to him, nothing to make him remember. He didn't want to remember anything, anyone!!

More and more memories invaded, the sand inching closer to him by the second. There was only one last terrible memory he had to face now, just one more he would have to live with and try so dearly to tame for all his life. This one seemed to make him oddly anxious, unsure himself how to interpret it as even the most devastating matches took second priority. It was a very hazy image of a boy peacefully wading next to him in the trench of misery, his eyes locked by darkness. Zexion's eyes narrowed, wondering why so many diamond-like clouds were blinding his vision, and how he still couldn't figure out the oh-too familiar personage already. He sensed another urge to rip out his binds swell over his body, but this one of a different origin than anger. He felt nothing but te utmost compassion for the boy, wishing to sprint towards him despite of any condition, and sharply bombard him with a series of questions, the most supreme degree of importance being why he wasn't moving. Zexion was so lost in this pearly vision; he barely noticed that the sand had already trailed up to his neck. But his concentration did not waver, and with his patience, the diamond clouds slowly began to vanish, and the shadow haired boy was revealed. Apparently, he hadn't been floating in anything. He was sleeping on a black floor, the purple sands swirling around him warily, as if afraid of his innocence. The chin covered boy across from him smiled happily, his thoughts drifting into weary daydreams. It was something about this boy made him very happy, to say the least. He felt like joining him in his embalming, secluded dreams; it looked like he was having a good time, despite the neutral expression. His recognition slowly melted away the barriers of heart his reclusive soul had built, also signaling the sands final engulfment of him into the ever-growing vat of violet grain. That Reckard boy seemed to make him feel like before, when there was noting to remember but him.

He was back into the delusive, unrestrained state he was with the flowing blackness, so of course the vortex of uprising sand he was falling into was nothing out of the ordinary. So of course, he ignored the livid blue flame that ignited out of eyesight, and the majestic, snakelike movements it made onto his chest. A brief, artic chill stung him as the wisp slithered over his front, but nothing he hadn't already withstood. Maybe this joy was deceiving him, said his better side of judgment. Feeding his eyes ridiculous illusions and fantasies. But the gaping hole in the wall of sand across from him (created in the snakes wake) was so trivial, it's typical rainbow of light gray light submerging the vortex, was there any use to worry about such an object of short-lived interest? But through its blurry haze, he saw something of a dark cellar door, littered with mysterious symbols all down it's front. But the cobra of blue quickly shot through the rapidly regenerating door before he could think anymore of it, eagerly trying to get to the door, as Zexion saw it. But just before he could see it bombard the stony gate with all its aqua invoked fury, the wonderful, silver light engulfed his every touch, sight and sound.

Although to Zexion it seemed like a night's worth of dreams, only a few minutes passed as the gray mist slowly fluttered out of the charcoal hall. His mind still quivered with daydreams as his hands extended gently, his body slightly sore after such extraneous stretches. He was resting languorously on his back, his arms and legs flayed carelessly in profound sleep. One eye flickered opened, quickly dispersing the blurry smoke of awareness from his irises. The other eye followed, giving Zexion a peculiar sense of anxiousness. Like he had forgotten something deafly important, like a serious appointment or schedule. He leaned up despairingly, and gazed unenthusiastically around him. The glowing, yellow diamonds suddenly felt extremely familiar, and a fragment of Zexion's previous memory came back to him. _The Halls_, he gaped. This was definitely not what he expected. Instead of the antagonizing, sinful vortex of hatred he had predicted to meet, it was merely a carbon copy of the hall before. _No originality whatsoever. _So he lazily pushed himself up, dusting off the ends of his cloak and scuffing his feet on the mirrored floor. _Nothing like National said it would be. _Then strangely, his head began to ache annoyingly at the heed of the previous name, as if trying to break through a roughly sealed gate. But the boy ignored I for the moment, and instead focused on his mission. _Which way is the Quarry? And where is…where is… _But his thoughts couldn't fill in the rest. He did know, however, that he had to protect something. A something indescribably precious to him. _But what is it? _He tried digging deeper and deeper into his memory bank, youthfully trying to solve his invaluable puzzle. It just had to be inside him, locked away until something triggered its eventual arrival. Far, far behind the core of obvious being, as meaningless as a sword without it's owner. The carefree Zexion chuckled at his seemingly random comparison. _Comparing memory to a sword. How ridiculous._

But with those last shreds of thought, hid head split open with terrible pain. He tried blocking it once more, but soon it became too much, and he palmed his lobe for comfort. What kind of a headache was this? But that question, like so many others that lay unanswered in Zexion's mind, suddenly became obvious facts as the oncoming surge of memory burst through his mind's remembrance field. Disjointed images floated through his subconscious, releasing all repressed thoughts. His clueless, ditzy image wiped away in as quickly as a heartbeat, and the original, stony personality of before resumed dominant with a brutal scowl. He was in the Department of Annoh's dark Iniquitous Halls, the only wall guarding the infamous Quarry. His acquaintances, to say the most, left him without aid, National—lead prospector—dealing with an urgent precaution, and Nine and Twelve, of which he knew nothing about, apparently in the dark. _What happened!? _Snarled the thoughts of the true Zexion. Who wouldn't? To be blindly foolish, all this time—helplessly watching on as realization finally awakened his true self. The Memory Sword, a vicious hunk of crystal with an archive of mind-numbing enchantments, had deceived him all along. Why didn't he see it coming? Why didn't the moment in which he first closed his eyes did he see the maniacal plan start to unfold. It was just so obvious, so ingenious at the time. It all untwined its malevolent plan when it lured him into that supernatural, otherworldly glee; it's true intentions gone far beneath his radar. Little did he know at the time, it was merely the precursor to emerging completely under the sword's dominion.

Right when it had lured him into its bind, the trap snapped with it's otherworldly seduction. It felt delightfully familiar at the time, already experiencing it not to long before. By that time, it was only a matter of time before the infectious possession spread through his heart and soul, his body long under the waters of it's spectacular power. Zexion stopped for a moment in intense, although bitter, thought. What would the sword gain by possessing him? What would it gain out of manipulating him further? But then, it all fell in place. While his real self was engulfed, his pseudo –personage' only option as to go into the Iniquitous Halls. _That_ was what those hideous black globs were, the exact horror he expected because his spiritual eye made it so from the undistinguishable form of darkness. Because the sword placed it's dominant effect on him, the luxurious lack of memory that came with his control knelled the horrific effect it would have on him otherwise. "But why!?" The boy roared un-approvingly. He was perfectly capable of getting through the Halls! It had given him the instructions; he could've done it perfectly! _If it had just waited_--! But his thoughts caught cut off by his levelheaded side of reason, supplying him with the obvious realization. The last time Zexion was in control of himself, he wanted to break the sword in several different ways. _And even before then_, he thought intently, _I was still so confused about my non-promise that by the time I did figure it out, I would get rid of the sword as fast as I could. _So of course, the sword had to control him—it tried to give him an opening to attack the Iniquitous Being, but he proved to weak to comprehend the sword's true meaning. _Of course._ His stray fist stopped shaking and his angry eyes slowly narrowed into emotionless slits. _Of course. _The white blob was his memories returning to him. The purple sand was the sword returning to its divine position of entity after destroying the Iniquitous, covering and transferring him back to the real world. And right before he awoke, it's last act was to burst open some silvery door. The door to the Quarry. It all made perfect sense. A mere weapon figured out everything. But what was he in its network of manipulations? Just a pawn, just a body to utilize for it's own goals? But wasn't it Zexion's goal to get into the Quarry as well? What exactly were this spirit's intentions?

He groped uncertainly for the sparkling gem at the end of the sword's fine handle. He didn't look at it, but it felt extremely warm and vibrant with energy. He wondered what could be hidden behind its serene warmth and polish. What bizarre, perhaps startling secrets would be within it's isolated core? But now wasn't the time to think about that. He laced both hands onto the whitewashed pole, and opened his eyes with wide and piercing blinks. It's feeling almost reminded him of the intense discomfort he felt as his memories flooded back to him, and the Hall's substance was no longer repelled by his joy. Was it really true that he could never have that kind of peace without forgetting everything that worried him, even his most beloveds? Did he have to submit to the diamond ghost to truly experience such pleasure? But the answer was put to the side for a moment, as the inquiry made him remember something vitally important from the vortex of sand, something that made him extremely happy before finally giving into the light. Something very familiar to when he was first overthrown, but strikingly natural and truer than that false joy-hood could ever be. Doused with long bouts of shaggy hair, that unbelievable grin wherever he was, and two shimmering green orbs to always complement. The boy's heart started to beat short, his emotionless stance struggling to be kept alive. It was Reckard. It was always him, giving him strength even at the lowest point of sanity. He couldn't help but let out a chocked laugh as his grip on the pole lessened, and he turned around to meet the ominous darkness ahead. It wasn't the time to think about the future right now. He felt a small instant of worry wash over him as he concentrated more on Reckard not being with him, but the overarching circumstances gave him strength to bear. If the blade really wanted to achieve the same goal, he knew exactly where Reckard would be. And that was where Zexion wanted to be the most.

--(This is where I _would _stop the chapter, but I really don't want the next chapter t be clogged up with Zexion when it's supposed to be centering on someone else (a main character))

At the end of what seemed like several minutes, a pristine, silver doorway eventually appeared through the hall's billowing mists. The boy stopped his eager footsteps, silently acknowledging the ancient doorway. It was deep silver, and covered in an ocean of unrecognizable symbols, probably from some far of language. The center of the gate had a monstrous hole in the center; tiny bits of crumbled cement twiddling down the enigmatic symbols as he skimmed the surface around it. _The sword's blast_, he thought as he eyed the slightly cerulean-died surface. It slowly creaked opened, and Zexion stepped through the opening without question.

It was an enormous sight, easily seeming too large for the mansion to handle. It curved in the shape of a humongous circle, countless gray pillars standing upright on the walls and matching the room's platinum décor ideally. A large, rectangular sky light poured gray moonlight into the space, significantly amplifying the beauty of the ancient ballroom with its ancient glow. It also revealed the frontal lobes of the pillars much clearer than before, revealing the masterful display of clipped feathers pinned onto the pilasters, some an earthy brown and others a countless collection of rainbow color. Feathers! He heard about feathers before, drawing on…_no, that couldn't be it_. They seemed to release a heavy incense of ginger, invisible smoke alluring Zexion into the room with a steady walk. Halfway to the center of the room, however, he stopped unknowingly, persuaded by the platinum elements. He looked around, wondering why he stopped, before finally looking down and gaping at the overwhelming sight he saw. It was the largest mural he'd ever seen, easily taking up half of the room, and coated in a dizzying pallet of red, blue and yellow. A great paragraph of text lay hidden inside its paint, still recognizable to the human brain, of course. He bent down to see it instantly, jerking reactions pulling him through the skimmed names it mentioned. _Celestials_, Zexion gasped as he noticed the flamboyant creatures the mural depicted. A Celestial was the name for the bizarre, otherworldly creatures that roamed the earth, or so some thought. From civilian reports, they seemed to only appear in times of great crisis, and was never completely seen; always just a stray limb, or set of inadequately described eyes. They were made famous for two reasons: their elaborate appearances and mind-numbing powers. A legendary, as some of the older trainers called them. They were extremely coveted by collectors everywhere, the ultimate prize of battling and wisdom prowess. Some independent laboratories were interested as well, pursuing the idea that even the most phenomenal powers of a Celestial could be extracted and grown inside artificial environments, perhaps controlling nature itself. But many scoffed at the idea that such magical aura could be extracted from such dainty things as feathers, and so many of these labs fell. Inspired collectors followed in their wake, their interest waning as they wished to move onto more easy prey. Who could blame them? Not a single picture of these Celestials was taken, no bit of fur or snatch of evidence left by the time more mythological experts came to the scene of the accident where the legendary appeared. No one ever caught a legend, either; or never showed it to the public, at least. It was fair to say that if you bragged about anything too rare, unwanted visitors would start coming. But those were usually the ones who actually saw the legends themselves. Many believed, sightings or not, Celestials were just figments of the imagination during intense stress, Zexion included. Some officials even gave them names! _Celebi, Jirachi…completely ridiculous_, he had thought.

But even Zexion's stubborn of disapproval of Celestials could not ignore the awe-inspiring sight below him. It depicted three incredibly majestic looking creatures, each atop a solid limestone pillar, and in angelic poses, as if bowing to the golden sky above them. Each symbolized a sacred color; the nickname from certain groups that believed the Celestials had something to do with the divine intervention of the earth. They were the most common colors civilians saw when sighting legendaries; the basic red, blue, and yellow. The first beast was slickly coated with electric yellow fur, deep, simplistic black strokes trailing down every side of its body. Mysterious silver twinges of metal sprung gracefully out of it's shadowed white mask. _Raikou_, Zexion thought instantly. Despite his aversions to their suppositious origins, he had memorized each of the fantastically elaborate names, his personal favorite being Mew. His younger, innocent self had once looked up these extraordinary beings and their strangely detailed descriptions on the Department mainframe. This 'Raikou' fit the description perfectly, right down to the small, cottony bits of shadowy lilac clouds attached to it's back. His interest peaked, and his eyes flickered anxiously to the next animal. It was fantastically large, roaring to the glittering heavens in its massive girth of shaggy brown hair. Streaks of auburn drooped lankily over its darkened slate cuffs, one firmly locked around each of its ankles. This one also bore a shaded white drilled into its face, neatly dividing its large button nose and invigorating blue irises. But it's most mesmerizing sight was in-between the sharp, light cerulean spikes protruding naturally out of it's skin. An endless trail of cloudy white smoke followed it's commanding wake, awing the boy in his tracks. _Entei. _Raikou and Entei. One of the many protectors, keepers of the three central elements. Raikou, the shield of thunderstorms, and Entei, guardian of volcanoes, each defended the respective forces of fire and lightning. There was only one element left. Water. _Suicune. _

The final beast stood elegantly between the other's two pillars, diligent and content with its position, unlike its subordinates. Bright and unwavering streaks of turquoise and violet swiveled beautifully down it's body, dignified, bubble shaped blotches of white being the only interruptions along it's stirring pallet of being. Divine, otherworldly stripes of pure pallid ribbon swayed charmingly off a small prick in it's back, floating stylishly as if held by it's invisible aura. But to Zexion's preference, its most enchanting sight was the diamond shaped crown protruding heavenly from its crystal and white shaded beak. Each monster reflected a barrier of regal resplendence onto each other, miraculously lighting the mural into a world of engrossing paint.

Zexion could hardly believe such pure, miraculous creatures weren't real. _Or maybe_, thought a small corner of his brain, _perhaps they could be. _Such creatures of intense power could never compare to the standard fare he had back in the county. But even if, even if they really could exist, what divine beings would sully themselves in the core of such a dreary place. Sure, the Quarry seemed homey enough, but the journey to it had to be horrendous. _Unless Celestials never came here in the first place. But the only one who could get through the halls is… _"National." He spoke quietly. National was the only one who was permitted to enter the Quarry. A magnificent mural was painted on the floor, and only then did Zexion truly take in the environment around him. The pillars were pinned with thousands of feathers, some gray and jaded, but others coated with millions of spectacular colors. Could it be? _No, no_—it couldn't. What in the world could a huddled up, disguised little possibly--? But the thought was caught short by sudden remembrance. Remembrance of the Number Zeros, National's personal raiders, and the ones he so sheepishly overheard. _Gatherers. _Could it be? Could this be what National had done for all this time? Would he really use his Gatherer's to collect the Celestials feathers and then deliver them to the Quarry himself? His eyes traveled up the mural with eager excitement; quickly running up to the final center axis of the room to truly examine it's mysteries. Faintly etched lines were carved all over the valley, seemingly unnoticeable to the untrained eye. They wound themselves peacefully around every bit of fur and feather, an extremely dim, blue light pulsing through out every appendage of the Quarry. Eventually, after bathing the place it's serene air, the lines collided above the painting into a single, vaguely engraved circle, small dots of red circling around it magically. One of the lines purged straight through the mural's rosy gold heavens, beckoning Zexion to follow its heed.

It was all true; everything was true. The actual explanation of the Quarry was so unbelievable, so foreignly strange. It extracted the fantastical energy withheld within even the tiniest bit of hide, spreading its entity through the entire Department and to the personal aid of its members. Every member had an ability to summon a derivative of magic by the Celestial's shell, such unbeknownst, undeniably pure power at their foolish fingertips. His eyes answered the call with a restrained yes, traveling up the remarkably ginger clouds with his sight alone. He wasn't going to have another 'incident' today. The faint blueness grew stronger as it drew nearer to its anticlimactic core, illuminating the billows of gold with a soft aura of navy blue. What he saw next, just below the circle in a place easily overlooked, sent him gasping for breath. A feather lay daintily beneath the supreme azure glow, long and thin and struck with a sharp bronze, rippling with bold, crimson streaks. A feather so distinct could never be mistaken. Its name seemed to scream into his head, awakening the ages frozen instinct of the legendaries image. _Ho-Oh._

It was unmistakable; the feather reeked of zealous, overflowing life. Ho-Oh's feather. By the estimated science of Celestial studies, Ho-Oh's description seemed very similar to the guardian's, raising the possibility of creation by the phoenix. He longed to touch and admire the fine stitches of red on its dainty position, to fondle it within his disgracefully tainted hands. His eyes narrowed, trying to weave through the invisible wall of holiness that masked the feather's true source. The pearly glow around it strained his eyes, but eventually he managed to see and remember the rather large paragraph of text beneath it. He fought the azure haze, not moving an inch but his irises skimming the paragraph in bullet speed. He couldn't stay in here for much longer. He had to return to reality, one with Reckard.

Many blessings have graced the Quarry. Whether or not out of their choosing is not certain, but the Celestial's power has been permanently bound to this cleansed valley. As the weaker, lesser legends of lore race to our fingertips, the more fantastical beasts earn an eternal sentence within the final spheres, artificially contained nothingness, purely created out of the god's preference for survival. They may only thrive in the two spheres ahead, for in complete deadness is the only other place where they may find peace. Beware your chances though, young martyr, lest a stray feather slowly seep out of its prison. If you wish to control such awesome being, act swift before it burns itself into nonexistence in the unworthy air of humanity, though this gorge will delay the process more than most shrines. Place your most desired wish atop the second sphere, and raise your sacred conductor to call upon the legend's power. Do not raise your expectations, though, for the quick of greed and faint of heart may not be able to withstand the overwhelming entity of nature itself. It may entrance and bewitch even the purest of desires, manipulating greed and manifesting a new wish, grown out of the inner shade and within a single scope of reality; to be swept back into inexistence, alive or not. Grasp hold of the conductor; bind it from escaping from the Quarry's barrier and disintegrating in the unholy winds of earth. Meld it with the purest of soul, and reject any forms of consumption.

Zexion winced at the last sentence. _National must've written this_, he thought, clearly noticing the similarities between this and their previous conversation.

After your wishes have been completed, to your hearts or the feather's content, you must exit from one of the twelve doors, to be cleaned of your presence in the Quarry, and all truths you've seen. It shall purify you of the darkness that generates the secrets of the Celestials, and bind your experiences with the utmost of impenetrable light. With this light, sense the correct door, and it shall release you into the most energy rich places of the spiritual earth, masked by the physical world. Leave satisfied, and your unanswered prayers may arouse their attention once more.

It stopped there, trailing off into a series of lopsided dots. They seemed to exude foreign strings of intimacy with National, if he did indeed scribe the passage. How had he disguised so much knowledge, such intense beliefs under that maze of false personalities and unruly childishness? He looked back down at the feather, unmoved after his readings.

It was all an act. National's true form was still hidden, so thoroughly masked by the inner workings of the department. He clutched his sword bitterly, clinging to it for some kind of inexistent support. He wasn't going to stay long enough to find out that true person. Finally, he dispelled all doubt and confusion, ailments cursed to him by the wretched Quarry, and walked the few strides left between him and the enchanting feather. He scooped it up gently, extremely careful despite his anger. It felt crisp and delicate around his palms, quivering with the utmost of heavenliness. He left the lulling, secretive gold clouds of the mural, and paced further and further with his confident bows, eventually reaching the first sphere from the paragraph. This was it; the stage was finally set. He truly did know what to do with Reckard now. He was so spiritually exhausted; emotions felt simple and abrupt compared to what he really wanted to invoke. But now was not the time be a stoic, enclosed person like National. When Ho-Oh's energy collided with his own, he would color it with all his frail sentiments, igniting the true fury that was the pokemon of life.

What was on the next sphere shouldn't have surprised him, but a small part inside him still managed to gasp for his appearance. Reckard, slumped over and disoriented, slept undisturbed around the frightening elements around him. The separation had to be taken, and in more ways than one. The boy looked beyond Reckard uncertainly, a childish pout overcoming him. _No, Zexion. You know you can't escape from the Department. _It was right. As much as he wished to escape through the eleventh door, he knew the department would easily apprehend and disable him, like a minuscule Caterpie among a thousand 'Cates. No, he wouldn't betray the organization now. Not yet. His insides felt fuzzy and imprecise, devoid of hope but still brimming with energy. it was enough for him to ignore the ungrateful toss he made with feather, his mind stuck on drastically more important things. _Reckard. Your almost there, Reckard. Almost._

He quickly raised the crystal blade up like a tray, the tip pointing directly at Reckard's heart. The feather was still floating majestically downwards, small bits of white breaking off it. The decay, of course. But that wouldn't last. Finally, it softly landed on the sword's center, and Zexion's eyes widened. This was it. Utter, fantastical release was almost upon him. The release of undeniable power, of streaming velocity and an eternal nobility for all living beings. _Almost, Reckard. Almost. _

"_Rainbow Divide!!" _He roared soulfully to the living darkness. A sudden flurry of bright crimson sparks exuded from the blade, falling onto the sphere below him and clinging on the sphere with a strange earthiness. At that point, the sword was no longer a carving of haunted diamond. It was a thousand, pure glass prisms reflecting millions of colors onto the angelic walls around him. Beautiful streaks of green, yellow and purple swiveled across his intensely concentrated skin, until a single blade of light grazed over his iris, and he softened his passionate grip. Then, just as his pupils dilated to an extreme, a single blue, triangled beam burst out of the weapon's tip, a mystical white aura surrounding it's lightening fast flow to Reckard's chest. _"Retrieve! Yoreckard! Soreckard!" _Suddenly, the beam engulfed Reckard in a stream of heavenly light, his face only barely showing any signs of disruption. Zexion, however, whose deep oversight overcame every blotch of celestial white, saw this with the utmost of distress. _Rainbow…Divide_? His worries lessened, though, as the white coating Reckard's body ceased for the moment, and the trail of neon blue twirled back into nothingness. _Over?_ He stood latently like a statue, unsure of emotion. The twitches on Reckard's face slowly vanished, ebbing away the pain Zexion felt for him. It was quiet, only the faint echo of the enchantment's earthy ring. _Yes. _He slowly released the sword from his scarred hands, letting it fall carelessly to the floor as he stared Reckard down with weary eyes. Safe. At last. But that exact moment, Reckard's body flailed upwards, his face trembling in waves of unrecognizable fury. Unrecognizable to all but Zexion, of course. He bolted instantly, unwavering in his blitzing speed despite his shock. What was going on? National never—_No! Don't move! _His frantic thoughts suddenly got erratically interrupted, replaced with those of the unmistakable voice. _It's_ voice. His sprint suddenly halted, right at the center axis between the two spheres. His feet stood frozen with the same shock he'd felt when seeing Reckard erupted, completely unchanged by _its_ haunting appearance. _What are you doing!?_ He thought obnoxiously, desperately trying to control the excruciatingly painful yearnings to be by Reckard's side. _The process is almost complete. Follow his example, Zexion, like the scripture said. Reject all forms of consumption. _Consumption? A trap—to be overtaken? Was this voice true? Would the angelic guardian, savior of light and the eternal heavens, really stoop to such lowly measures? A sharp grimace cracked across his face in anguish, one minuscule fang folding over his lip. Why did this have to happen! How did everything manage to utterly manipulate him, curbing his will like nothing more than a mere annoyance! He achingly slid his eyes to Reckard, scrounging the ground around him for any sort of inexistence support. He traveled up his non-moving body, begging him to come out and save him like before. But of course, the spasms had passed and only the occasion stutter poised uncertainly in his direction. At least he had done one thing right. Reckard was okay. His eyes never wavered, his lids slowly beginning to water after such a prolonged period of not blinking. No, he wasn't going to give such a despicable weapon such satisfaction.

_Yes, yes! Cool your passions, boy. Your consciousness shall remain as reward for your patience. _A small bit of him, the one totally swayed by the voice's majestic presence and nobility, felt eternally praised by this comment, quickly trying to extend it's gratitude to the rest of Zexion's body. But the stubborn, angrier side of him easily outweighed this perfect feeling, converting the astounding appraisal into teeth grinding insult. _Reward! _Just what kind of a hostage did it think he was! Just a miniscule, replaceable little pet to be _rewarded _from time to time!? He kept his eyes locked on Reckard, however, not bothering to bark out a probably useless quip in response. It was these times of complete fury and mixed confusion that reminded him of before, at the exact moment when all shock and frustration flooded in him with the true nature of The Iniquitous Being. Utter disgust washed over him at the time, horrified that such a heinous creature had ever absorbed him. Knowing that, one might find it difficult to empathize with Zexion when one of those terrifyingly familiar blobs of pure coal slithered down from the ceiling, and around Reckard's cradled position. _No! What are you doing!! Stop it!! _He demanded furiously inside him, franticly trying to escape from his binds. _It is not of my hand, Conductor. Ho-Oh's spell has almost fallen into position. _It crawled over his limbs, engulfing him in its dreadfully sticky being. Reckard, however, had a dreamy smile over his face, drowsily unaware of his fate. Zexion couldn't stand it any more. He had to bolt to Reckard's side, warding off that horrific gunk from his innocent stance. He lashed out with all his strength, whipping in all directions for a weak spot to slither out of. But as much as Zexion wished, no outward sign of struggle could be shown, only a twitching foot and a snarling face. Spiritual thrashing had no effect on the physical world. _No Zexion, do not wear yourself out again. It will only make things more difficult. _

He didn't respond, still wriggling violently inside for a way out of the blade's grasp. _It's not working, _he thought with a sudden burst, knowing _it_ could read his sentiment. _I—need a---physical struggle. _He tried exerting his hands, but the most strength he could muster was the bare wiggle and pressure of his teeth, let alone any full force rebel. But then, something divine and miraculous streamed through his head, igniting his thoughts with the new passion of idea. _Yes. _Without a second thought, he bit down on his lower lip with a rash pressure, small trickles of searing red blood trickling down his chin in response. _Yes! _The broken skin, combined with the extreme spiritual spasms, shattered the barrier of control that hovered around him, his true control finally returning to him. He unclenched his jaw and bolted rapidly to Reckard's smothered location, now wading in a never-ending pool of black. Suddenly, something fast as light itself swiveled around his feet, causing him to crash to the floor in bitter defeat. On ground level, despite his wavy sight and distortion from the fall, he managed to see that it was an also devastating memorable streak of goo, the endlessly white one to be precise. It joined the vat of coal ahead of him, melting and blurring the substance until it was an undeniable gray. "Reckard!!" He gasped, scrambling up to his feet, and diving into the inky cloud without fear. But just as he was about to crash land on his slimy surface, it suddenly divided into two small oceans of gray, leaving Zexion to smash into the dim gray tiles below him. _What!? Where did he go! _He crawled back to his knees, curling his fist hotly. First, he would lunge onto the left one, hopefully disabling it, and then warding off the second until he could think of a better idea. Right, the perfect plan. He swerved his torso left, extending his toes in preparation for the leap, but something awe-inspiring completely, and willingly, stopped him in his tracks. It seemed they had jutted into magnificent pillars out of the corner of his eye, each slowly emitting fluttering strands of black and white. It carved itself into distant and abstract images, unable for Zexion to comprehend as of yet. His sight blurred, and swiveled its picture, constantly overlapping auras in the massive exchange of energies. _Yes, of course. Them. _Finally, the boy could actually make something of the obelisk; it's falling slivers quickly changing to a distinct black, and the column a bleached pallid. It was carving into something, like a blob, he thought at first. No, no a creature. A humanoid. A human! Its features had finally come into the light of recognition. A hand, looking as if made out of ice, froze exquisitely along a well-toned arm. Something trailed around its waist, light and wispy looking. A cloak. But at this point, he could no longer divert his attention to a single attribute. It was as if a pure opal statue stood before him, his clothes a variety of colors, of course, but his skin as white as any blizzard. It bore a soft neon blue shirt; his hands and arms easily engulfed its engrossing sleeves. A bright crimson line trailed along its cuffs, matching the shirt smoothly. Over it was an also sterling red jacket, it's sleeves dotted with an emerald light stroke that stretched along the back as well. Two long, protruding clover banners trailed gracefully off the coat's shoulders in strange unison. It was all held together by the most fantastic neck-guard he had ever seen. It was like the bottom of a knight's helmet, but as silky looking as the freshest spring gown. It was a dull vanilla, outlined with a thick border of blue-green and connected to the peachiness by the usually unrecognizable triangle at the end. But to Zexion, it's most noticeable attachment was the astounding garb on his head. It's eyes covered by cute streaks of auburn hair extending out of its rim, it was as if he bore the inversed colors of White Day, straight from Claus himself. A flowing Santa hat drooped merrily at its side, it's snowy white bulk outlined in a cheery scarlet, and an adorable cherry pompom on its tip.

_Soreckard. _It pulsed with that same energy. The eerily familiar energy of _him. _He glanced away, unattracted by the foreign pulse. The other pillar had to be reminiscent of some other energy, not one he was ashamed of at the time. He expected another performance like the first, but found that it had already changed into it's human like form, all withering white bits vanished from it's aura. It was, just as much the first, a porcelain skinned body, but it's clothes color scheme quite the opposite of the first's. Its outfit was for more simplistic than the other's, giving off a sort emphasis when compared to the elaborate designs around it. Its face was covered in long bounds of raven black hair; easily groping it's shoulders. His angelically white complexion made a sharp contrast, though it seemed to emit a far more friendly energy. Unlike the other's tightly organized costume, this one bore an almost childlike, long-sleeved shirt. The upper half was a serene, dark gray, with two radically different sleeve sizes. It's left sleeve looked far too short for the person, his hand and a bit of his wrist easily extending out of its length. It's right one, however, looked far too long for such a dainty looking creature to wear, almost treading to the floor in length. It was a darkly gray, cool shadows swirling down his sides in sweet unison. But halfway down the gothic attire, something strangely elegant wrapped around his arms and about halfway down his chest, bound tightly in an endless black. A strap of eternally black silk wound tightly around his elbows, almost acting like a border to the color below. From the chest down, it had changed from the illustrious coal to a soothingly light gray, the shorter sleeve only barely showing this transition. His pants were off the same, but ragged and chipped within their wavy surfaces. Two large cloths of black straddled around his waist, gently caressing his legs in protection. Its form was prominent, shadowy slate eyes looming over him in superiority.

He extended his arm towards the being, gently reaching out to skim that back of it's hand, sliding to the very tips. "Yoreckard," he announced quietly, his eyes locked on its stony and emotionless face. _Dusk. _He scuffled backwards, trying to glare down the cheerfully attired column with his quickly receding confidence. _They were here…they were always here. _"Soreckard." _Dawn. _He scraped the floor with the bottom of his slipper, pushing down on the silver plated base bitterly in his wobbly return to footing. A neutral expression expertly masked the impending dread he felt inside. _Yoreckard of the night, Soreckard of the day. The eternal guardians of Reckard's entity. _Zexion had once met these transforming pillars, once many ages ago. They had slithered out of him, summoned in the same fashion as what he had just seen. He was so confused when they came out, so shocked by the idea that his adoring protector actually contained two human beings inside him. But as always, there was nothing special about Reckard. Every living being had a heart, the link between the physical body and soul, and was divided into two sections, the shadows and sunlight that colored life's emotion. Hearts were usually frail and deficit. Only the strongest hearts could survive without protectors. Most guarded themselves through the human avatar, influencing drastic decisions with unexplainable accounts of misery or enlightenment. But some, as in the case of Reckard's surprisingly delicate soul indicated, needed more than just an earthbound character to manipulate. Yoreckard and Soreckard were the two physical manifestations of Reckard's divisions, usually choosing to remain dormant inside the vessel until unduly times of crisis. They had only come out once before. Yoru and Sora, as they called themselves otherwise. He sighed, fumbling with fingers slightly as he lowered his head downwards. Yes, it was all here. _It_ was here, to be precise. Another sacred conductor, like his Memory Sword. One of unimaginable potential. It was a weapon for the twilight of Reckard's being, Yoru. Sora had lost his long ago. He would be nothing but a mere distraction. He glowered sternly at the sphere where Reckard had divide, glisteningly spotless after it's annual refreshment, as if Reckard never divided in the first place. He flung out his palm in front of the two statues with a reluctant enthusiasm, his eyes still locked on that same sphere. Force would have to be used, if necessary. But he was willing to do anything. "Retrieve."

And at that signal, something stirred with vigorous life inside each of the statues. The right ones eyes suddenly flashed a luminous jade, exciting the many rings inside it with an untamed force of searing gold. The protector of light, his clearly anxious limbs wiggling with energy, slowly wisped a childish grin onto his face, eyes bursting with liveliness. His left leg suddenly burst out of its invisible bindings, the other appendages soon following. He jumped down from the small pedestal his summoning had created, and scoured the Quarry anxiously, as if searching for some kind of living organism. Things passed slowly, silencing invading and imposing in the empty space between the uncomfortable Zexion, and the dumbfounded guardian. But after what seemed like several minutes, it finally beamed in Zexion's direction, brimming with stupid realization. He jolted in front of him, a large smirk smeared across his face. "Zexion! It's been too long! Quarry, right?" Zexion nodded stolidly, secretly surprised that he was so casual after such a gelatinous summoning. "Yoru was watching it for a while, y'know, trying to clear through the dusks of the future using that whole aura divination mumbo jumbo. He _didn't_, for once in his life, figure out why you wanted us, though. You still okay?" He stood awestruck, unable to contain an endlessly shocked gape of surprise. What was wrong with him? Didn't he remember _anything_?

"Y-yes, Sora. I am," he managed to cough out, still trying to get himself together. Sora was always the forgetful one. He knew that from they're very first meeting, no matter how short it lasted. He always got lost in his childish fantasies, daydreaming whenever he got the chance. He could never concentrate on something for too long when that happened; most of his assignments given to him by his superior usually being forgotten in a pool of carelessly exuded memories not too long afterwards. But still, to forget something so…he cringed, not wanting to complete the thought. Yoru, however, was always the stern, insightful diviner of shadows. He, _surely_, would remember such a--vital memory. Sora, unaltered by Zexion's clearly distressed composure, kept chirping along with a juvenile prattle in his voice.

"I guess you need us to do something? Or maybe you just wanna have a good time, huh! I hope so, 'cause you know how Yoru gets about anything that doesn't involve some intense philosophical wax, or whatever." His words felt fake and distant, as if someone trying to pose as a well remembered patron of the arts. He gave empty nods to each meaningless rant about his other half, the useless complaints of being either stingy or closed minded. Yoreckard had to come out eventually. But eventually wasn't quick enough. _Come on! Get over here already! _He mentally demanded. "Hm?" Asked Sora, slightly interrupted by the obvious twinge of annoyance spread across Zexion's face. "You're starting to look a little pale, Zexion. Maybe you should Yoru." He nodded vigorously in response, eager to slip out of such a ridiculous child's grasp. Sora's smiled softened a bit, and he wandered back into the shadows near the right statue, whom Zexion knew probably wasn't anymore, un-encouraged to return. The sentinel of light was so insecure; he vaguely wondered why he wasn't already cast into nothingness by the heart's better half after that conversation. _He even lost his own sacred conductor! _A while ago, where things were simpler, his own weapon to defend the enemies of light was swept away from him, making him next to useless compared to Yoreckard, whose scythe was still perfectly operational. Reckard seemed to be in good hands, though, as Reckard's core seemed to be have been expertly protected by the intruder's spell. _As far as I _can_ tell_, he thought with a spawn of unrelenting chills, terrifyingly frightful going down his back. He didn't want to force himself to think about that.

Then, standing tall and prominent in his dreary gray attire, Yoreckard stepped coolly out of the blackness, his eyes sharpened with an illustrious azure. He looked up with a distained pout rooted firmly atop his face. "Zexion. Out of all the places to call us, you choose the _one _valley where it's purity jarred my Sight! This had better be good." Nothing? _Nothing? _This was impossible. Zexion stood frozen, placidly ignoring the greeting he prepared. Oblivion slowly seeped into him, sadness rushing out and in, constantly overlapping with small strings of hate. How could this honestly be!? He couldn't have forgotten. No, no one could have forgotten!! He tried glancing over to Sora, his vision hazy and shivering with fright. He was gawking at him with a raised eyebrow; obviously pondering why he hadn't spoke yet. If they truly remembered, they would never act like this. None would be the same after that. Yoru's face was out of sight, eerily waving shadows slowly consuming his body. Why did it always have to be him? Why did he always have to be alone? Why didn't the Celestials come and save his day!? _"Stop it Zexion!" _A sudden screech of a high-pitched squeak bolted through hi head, stringing together Yoreckard's words. He straightened his eyes, focusing the flowing streaks of silvery blur into one concentrated image. Sora looked like he was frozen in time, his expression the exact same as before, but not blinking. Yoru's hand lay casually on his shoulder. _"I'm sorry we can't remember, Zexion. We aren't human beings, like you. Entity is memory itself. For some reason, it seems that two spectrums are pulling at our auras. Sora has gravitated towards the new one, forgetting whatever event you remember. I, too, am attracted to it, but by spiritual attainment with the dusks of the old void have allowed me too…empathize with you. I'm not sure why, but it's better if we just return to the heart now. Entity is never supposed to be drawn from such a clean field of consciousness. Especially not with that thing you summoned us with." _

"…" The nothingness slowly began to drain away, replaced with a certain feeling of dread. Was it all that hopeless? He met Yoreckard's sight, a satisfied smile brandished joyfully on his face. He slowly took his hand off of Soreckard, and he immediately jumped up, blinking rapidly and wiping his eyelids with his sleeve unquestionably. It was as if he had been paused in a movie, his body forced to deal wit the consequences as his consciousness stood still. Zexion couldn't help but put on a fake smile to please them. Yoru was a very talented sorcerer. He was so attuned with the shadows of the heart, his enchantments ranged from reading and implementing messages into minds, to freezing entity in it's track and seeing the future through divination. _Truly remarkable_, concluded Zexion with a sniffle. If only he could stay longer. Yoru whispered something into Sora's ear and with a disappointed sigh, started jogging over to the twelfth door on the end of the Quarry. "Yoru," Zexion spoke quietly, still paranoid that Sora might weed himself back into the conversation. "I—" But his voice was cut off by the sharp, but kind tone of Yoru.

"We need to go. Now." He said attentively. His smile turned into a worried frown as he dusted himself off.

"Why Yoru? Why can't you just stay with me, let Sora take over for a while?" He asked troublingly. Yoru would be so much better than those two bumbling idiots he's probably have as partners. He could detach from the organization with his help, destroy the sword, and he would protect him from whatever Gatherer's might come to pick them up. Then everything would be fine. Completely, utterly fine.

"No." He stated bluntly.

'What!?' Roared Zexion, curling up his fists in fierce determination. "It'll be perfect Yoru! You can travel with me; we can escape from the Department with your help! Reckard can be again with your help!" He drew in a sharp breath; surprised he had actually said his name. _That was what Yoru was, wasn't he?_ Reckard. Ultimately, he would be nothing more than the heart it protects. Although his anger had not yet subsided, a bit of him prepared to comfort a shattered Yoru. But as always, Yoru was not as easily broken.

"No, Zexion. Entity does not belong on the human field of physicality. I must wander the heart's angelic realm, warding away the evils drawn to such a pure soul. As you know, this would be much more to ask from Sora than what would be practical. I do think, even without a conductor, he possesses an inner strength to be nurtured later on. I, as powerful as I am, cannot say the same." Zexion sighed lowly, defeated. Of course, he knew this would be the answer. Things would never go his way under such a vile house. He glanced depressingly over to the twelfth door, where Sora was playfully skimming the patterns and deigns around it with a curious intent. _If only…_ "I have sensed many things since arriving here. The dusks of the future here are also accompanied by light, a place where I am poorly outfitted. I cannot help but wonder whether the premonitions I seek here are real or not, whether the fates I see of you and your friends are final. I am only a product of the heart, after all. A product of existence." He paced sluggishly over to the center point between the doors and the second sphere. "And all existence is temporary." What was he talking about? Why did these two always have to go off into their own little world and completely forget about him? But he would never feel exact resentment for Yoru, or Sora. They were both Reckard at heart, and he would never despise any part of him. Zexion, caught once more in his daze of perpetual thoughts, didn't notice as Yoru walked calmly towards him, and a thick, unlatching noise emitted from his back. He lightly touched the boy's shoulder, instantly snapping Zexion out of his hazy daydreams. Automatically, he knew what to say.

"Can you tell me something, Yoru? Do you see any—any-" He paused, trying to force the sentence out of his choked up throat. "-hope in my future? For me—and Reckard?" Yoru's calm expression did not change, and he merely turned his back to Zexion with a quick swish, something rattling in his hands as he walked towards the door ahead.

"I cannot prescribe a fortune to you, Zexion. To tamper with the future, regardless of the outcome, will only bring disaster." He stopped for a moment, giving the greatly disappointed Zexion a chance to catch up with him in more than one aspect. "I cannot withstand this dominion for much longer. He must go now, Zexion. And you, with his shield." Then, a surge of realization passed Zexion. That was why National ordered him to the Quarry in the first place. To get a certain object from Yoru, one he thought he was eternally bound to. Never did he assume that it would leave his hands without a struggle. They had reached the door now, Sora jumping eagerly beside hem, itching to get out of his intense boredom near the gate. With a swift motion of Yoru's hand, and a searing streak of acute screeching across the lightened sanctuary, he threw something long and slim at Zexion, drowned in too many shadows to be specified. _That's it! The scythe of shadows! _Zexion snatched it in the air with one hand, his grip unwavering with the sudden surge of adrenaline through him. He lowered it to his palms, his eyes grazing its magnificent surface. It was a long, jet-black pole adorned with many braids of white, the occasional bead of gray and silver scattered about as well. It's hilt was a large, safari green triangle, the inside carved out as if was some sort of handle. But at it's much more attractive end, a lengthy stretch of dark silver metal extended from the pole's tip, a sharp, white point at it's peak. But it's most beautiful feature, easily drowning out the rest of the scythe entirely if not for Zexion's keep inspection, was the six thick, elongated sterling gold flutes opposite of silver blade. This, Zexion thought, was surely the weapon of a dusk guardian.

He looked up once more, his brightly aglow with excitement and thankfulness. "Y-yoru! Thank you so—" But the thank was cut short by the sudden observation that Yoru and Sora had disappeared. Instead, Reckard, complete and in his ever-dreamy expression, was sleeping lazily as he leaned cluelessly against the wall near the twelfth door. For a moment, Zexion was stunned with sock. But after a few moments, it became obvious about what had happened. _They combined while I was looking at the scythe. _There wasn't a trace of their presence left, not even a small bit of threaded color accidentally left behind from their rebirth. _They—they didn't even say goodbye. _He stared at the ground stonily, trying to contain the great wave of sadness that managed to breach his mental defenses. Yes, yes, it was probably better that way. It was so much better for him to be left disgraced, and shamed, clearly unloved by anyone and everyone. He walked stolidly to Reckard's spot, still struggling to keep himself together, and lifted him lovingly to his side. Reckard was all that was left. Not that he would try to salvage anything else of any other person. He kicked open the twelfth door with the heel of his slipper, an enormous flood of light soon engulfing the room afterwards. He gazed into mass further, expecting to see some kind of island or town to signal where he would be going. The only sight, however, was the endless, electric white of the void. But he really knew where Reckard was going, anyway. Johto, of course. He smiled genuinely for the first time that day, aiming directly at Reckard's completely oblivious expression. He would find Reckard again one way or another. He would never stop until he and Reckard were reunited, to continue their journey. He placed Reckard firmly in front of him, also in front of the white door. A part of him wished they could both just leap into the white washed void, to finally escape from the Department's grasp. But his better side easily won that argument, knowing fully that they would be captured, retained, and always on the run before that would happen. If they always had to dash out their presence, he might never find an antidote for Reckard. And if he didn't then, it was a good estimate that he might not ever get to do so. No, he was going to work with the Department for now. They had the resources, the people, the money. One day, he would be free of their haunting restraints. _Now! _His arm jutted in front of him, pushing Reckard completely into the pallid realm inside the gate, the sadness finally breaking through. He had to do it now, when he was most vulnerable and distracted, or else chances were, he never would. Reckard's shell flew majestically through the water like blankness, simple white streaks flowing around him with an almost aqua glow.

Separation was inevitable for him. _Almost, Reckard._

**--**

**--**

"Almost."

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**Rewrite**

Then, standing tall and prominent, draped in his dreary costume, came Yoreckard, his eyes lit with the sharpest azure he had ever seen. A distained pout took root firmly upon his face. "Zexion! Out of all the places to call us, it was in the _one _spot where the spiritual purity jarred my Sight! This had better be good." Zexion's face stuck in a frozen position, not of hatred or sadness, but complete oblivion. How could this be? _How could this possibly be!? _He couldn't have forgotten. No, no one could have forgotten! Suddenly, he raised his palm to his unlashing side, trying to latch onto something supportive and familiar. His wavering eyes glanced over at Soreckard, who looked as dazed and confused as ever. The shadows were consuming Yoru. _Why _did he have to always be alone! Why did he always be the one to suffer! _"Stop it, Zexion!" _ A sudden blast of a vicious voice roared inside his head. He looked back up, and met the impending glare of Yoru's disapproval. _"I'm sorry to say, but it's seems Reckard's entity_._ has frozen our memories. We weren't supposed to come out this way. Not with that—that thing you used." _His anger slowly seeped away, as if some kind of celestial force was absorbing it for him. He adjusted his eyes, and met Yoru's calm and figured state once more, clear and dominant of the situation. Suddenly, his mind flooded itself with a surge of incredible, bliss-like realization. Yoru had tapped into a new dimension of power through his expert sorcery of the dark. Using the living essence from all beings, he could slither his way into the future and predict the fate of all he wished. His power was growing, everly, constantly growing. The ability of mind reading had to be second nature by now.

He stumbled back upwards, meeting the confused gawk of Sora, and the happily satifisfied glac eof Yoru. "Yoru." He spoke quietly, trying to weed Sora out of the converstion.

Yoru says entitycan't withstand memories. Suddenly with sees a premonition. Rushes Zexion to the door, telling them Reckard has to leave. Zexion say's But—I have to ge". Yoru unlatches it from his back, and throws it to Zexion. They have a short conversation before Soreckard rushes over, and Zexion pushes the combined body of Reckard down to new Bark town. _Almost _"almost."

**Rewrite**

At that signal, something instantly stirred inside each of the statues core. The color-drenched protector's irises glowed with a sudden flash of jade, exciting the rings around his pupil with an illustrious honey gold. A playful smile suddenly wisped onto his face, his limbs slowly begging to wiggle with an eager freedom. Suddenly, his left leg burst out of its invisible prison, his other appendages soon following. His face suddenly shrunk into a wizened pucker, eagerly scanning the room for any signs of life. His tags flowed divinely behind him, completely ignoring Zexion's presence while scouring the room for any others. Things stood quiet for what seemed like several minutes, until it finally beamed in Zexion's direction in stupid realization. He jolted over next to him, a large grin spread over his face. "Hello, Zexion. I assume we're in the Quarry." Zexion nodded stolidly, secretly surprised that he was being so casual about their summoning. "Yoru's been watching it for a while, the whole spectrum of aura or whatever he uses in divination. He didn't see what you wanted us for, though. Reckard's still okay though, right?" Zexion stood awestruck, unable to contain a gaping mouth anymore. Didn't he remember anything?

"Yes he is, Sora, " he managed to scrape together, still recovering from the shock. Sora was always the forgetful one, too lost in his childish daydreams to remember anything for too long. But to forget something so…he didn't want to complete the thought. Yoru was always the smart, insightful one. He, surely, would remember something so…vital. Sora, unaltered by Zexion's face, continued talking with a juvenile prattle in his voice. _As far as I _can_ tell_, he thought with a spawn of unrelenting chills going down his back.

"I guess you need us to do something, right? Or did ya just call us up for a good time! I hope so, 'cause y'know how Yoru gets about having fun." The words felt fake and distant to Zexion, as if said through an entirely different than the Sora and Reckard he knew. He didn't answer his on his occasional rants about his oter half, only giving the occasional nods now and then. Yoreckard had to come out soon. _Come out now! _He mentally demanded. "Hm? Hey, Zexion, maybe you should see Yoru. You're getting a bit pale, y'know." He nodded visously, eager to get out of such a ridiculous child's grasp. He disappeared into the shadows behind him, unexcited to turn back. The guardian of Reckard's light was so insecure; he vaguely wondered why he wasn't already cast into nothingness after that conversation. _I mean, he even lost his sacred conductor because of that. _A while ago, his own weapon to defend light inside him was swept away with the wind, making him next to useless compared to Yoreckard. It seemed to be in good hands, however, since Reckard's core was still safe. As far as he could tell. Finally, he swerved around, meeting the gaze of a completely animated Yoreckard, a hauntingly calm pair of eyes set firmly on atop his frowning exposure. His eyes were were completely black, but brightly outlined by a ring of superfluous blue light. Reality had landed.

"Zexion! What is the meaning of this? We can't just pop up any time you like! We have to be out when there is trouble, and I, even with al my divination, did not foresee any. I hope you have a good excuse." Zexion's face lit up with excitement, rushing over to the goth

**Rewrite**

He extended his arm, and gently graced the back of his hand, sliding down to its tips. "Yoreckard," He announced quietly, his eyes focused on the frozen beings face. He whirled around quickly, facing the obviously cheerful attire of the other. _They're here…always here. _"Soreckard." His kicked himself back up to his feet, a silent expression expertly masking his massive dread. Yoreckard of the night. Soreckard of the day. The eternal guardians of Reckard's entity. Zexion had met them once before, many, many ages ago. He was first skeptical as to what these guardians were; how did Reckard manage to possess two human beings inside him? But of course, there was nothing special about Reckard. Everything had the divisions of the heart, the shadows and sunlight that colored emotion to it's fullest. Most hearts defended themselves through the human avatar, influencing decisions with hot anger or chilling sadness. But some, as in Reckard's surprisingly frail soul indicate, needed more than an earthbound character to manipulate. Yoreckard and Soreckard were the two physical manifestations of the heart's secret protectors, usually going by the personas Sora and Yoru. They had only been drawn out once before, in times of crisis. Zexion sighed, fumbling uneasily with his hands as he lowered his head. Yes, that it was it. He had to retrieve it from Yoreckard, or Yoru. Sora was just a mere distraction. He looked sternly down at the spot where Reckard had once been, it's glittering surface acting as if Reckard was never there. His eyes narrowed in ate, and he reluctantly flung out his palm to the two statues. "Retrieve."

**Rewrite.** It was a cool, darkly gray, extending down each of his sleeves elegantly before being blocked halfway on the arms and chest. An endlessly black ribbon was tied around his arms and chest, binding them stiffly to his sides. Below it, the second half of the garment had suddenly fizzled a soothingly light gray in contrast to the stark colors above it. His ragged, but also enchantingly soft slate, slopped unevenly down his ankles, bits and pieces of chipped leather that picked off during the ages showing dramatically. A much prettier sight surrounded it; two large cloths of black curled around his waist almost like a skirt. It stood prominently, shadowy eyes out of range.

**Rewrite.** The right one, however, looked far too long for the being, almost treading to the floor in it's vanity. But an even stranger sight appeared between them, around the elbows to be exact. An endless black ribbon was tightly bound around him, not just his chest but over it's arms as well. The shirt's colors under the ribbon also changed abruptly, the cuffs the same dark gray, but the bulk suddenly changing into a soothingly light gray. His ragged, skirt-like pants trailed carelessly on the ground next to his feet, two clothes of an also impenetrable black.

_**Bibliography for personality report in Social Studies binder. **_

**Rewrite.**He crawled back onto his knees, expecting to lunge at the left one with a fierce enthusiasm, but instead found him self awe-struck at the sight before him. They had suddenly jutted up into two thick pillars at the corner of his eye, small bits of decaying white and black occasionally fluttering off its surface. It slowly carved itself into distant and abstract images, constantly swiveling and shaking with their past aura. Then, Zexion finally found something he could recognize on one of the pillars. A hand. A cloak. A hat. The right one's falling slivers were becoming more and more black, eventually being the only color expelled from its body, making the pillar an extremely bleached pallid. It had slowly carved itself into some sort of blob. No, a humanoid. A human! It was a fantastic sight. A pure opal statue of a seemingly lifeless person stood solemnly, dressed in the most elaborate of garbs. It had a soft neon blue, trimmed red long-sleeved shirt on, it's cuffs a sterling crimson. Over it was a jacket of red as well, but dotted with a bold, emerald-soft green stroke around the back and sleeve. Two protruding, long banners of clover trailed gracefully off each of its shoulders. It was all held together with the most fantastic neck guard he'd had ever seen. It was like the bottom of a knight's helmet, but as silky looking as the freshest gown of spring. It was a dull peach vanilla, outlined with a thick line of blue-green and connected at the end with a tiny, normally unrecognizable triangle. But to Zexion, the most astounding sight was what was on his head. His eyes covered by the cute streaks of auburn hair protruding out of its rim, it was as if someone inversed the colors of a White Day hat, from Santa himself. It was trimmed red; it's bulk being a snowy white, with another deep cherry pompom attached adorably at the end.

Zexion noticed its skin hadn't changed to a normal color like its clothes had, still remaining porcelain white. It pulsed with some sort of familiar energy. Some eerily familiar energy. He quickly changed views to the other pillar, quickly adverting any more sustention to the previous waves. He noticed, however, it was no longer a column—it also had changed into a porcelain-skinned human. The color of his clothes, however, seemed the exact opposite of the one before him. **Rewrite.** It's outfit was for more simplistic than the other's, giving off a sort emphasis when compared to the elaborate designs around it.

Only it's skin was opal, not it's clothes!!

He didn't reply, still trying to wriggle his way out of the blade's grasp. _It's not working, _he thought with a sudden burst, knowing it could read his every word. _I need a physical rebel. _He could only barely feel around his limbs, let alone any sort of flailing. But then, a spark of miraculous divination came him, as he felt his teeth with wiggle with disapproval. Without a second thought, he rashly bit down on his lower lip, soon stemming bright red streaks of blood down his chin. _Yes!_ The break, combined with his inner thrashes, broke through the barrier of control surrounding him, and his control came back to him. He unclenched his jaw and rapidly bolted to Reckard, who was now wading in a pool of never-ending black. Suddenly, a bright white spurt of goo blasted out of its center, finally engulfing him in a maze of rapidly swirling, mixing gray. "Reckard!!" He screamed instantaneously, darting to Reckard again. The miasma of gray suddenly stopped, and swiveled onto different directions. Zexion knelt down, reaching down to dig the slime out, but was shocked with an electric yellow stream of light on his hand. _W-what! _Suddenly, it split into two globs, the spot where Reckard was being completely empty. The two gray blobs quivered anxiously, the shocked Zexion too surprised to move. The blobs suddenly jutted up into pillars, and slowly carved themselves into something, something humanoid. A hand. A cloak. A hat.

White and black slime. Biting lip, blood, loss of control, inky cloud, Yoreckard, Soreckard.

Zexion stopped dead, his face froze with emotionless

**Rewrite **_Over? _He stood latently like a statue in that position, deeply shocked an uncertain of the situation. Reckard was still, that final twitches of the blank beam erased from his thoughts. _Yes. _But at that exact moment, Reckard's body flailed up randomly, his face scrunched up with a kind of unrecognizable anguish. But not unrecognizable to Zexion. He suddenly let go of his transfixed blade, letting it fall carelessly to the floor as he bolted for Reckard's location. He bent down immediately, cradling him in his arms with a greatly distressed expression. _Reckard! Don't!_

Eraser. 

**Rewrite**

It stopped there, leaving the boy with a sort of intimacy he never experienced with national before. How had he known so much, disguising it so well within that maze of childishness, constantly bombarding him with false personalities? He finally took the steps forward to the feather, and picked it up with extremely careful hands. It felt delicate and crisp in his hands, as if a glass sheet swiveled with energy about his palms. The lulling, secretive gold clouds were behind him now, a renewed feeling worthiness stirring through his veins, urging him further and further. It was time; this time, he truly knew what to do with Reckard. He was spiritually exhausted; his emotions so far were merely stoic observations, never truly reaching beyond the point of perky interest. Perhaps when Ho-Oh's energy collided wit his own, the connection would result in the return of his stubborn angst-ness, though a part of him detested that side of whiny incompleteness. What he saw next, however, he would never think of detesting. He half expected it, though some small, vulnerable piece inside him was still surprised by his appearance. Reckard was lying in his usual position upon the circle across from Zexion's, which he conveniently found himself on. The separation was almost upon them, in more ways than one. His outward appearance retained its stony position, but his insides felt different. They felt arm and fuzzy, devoid of any precise emotion, but enough for him to ignore the absentminded toss he threw the feather. _Reckard. Your almost there, Reckard. Almost._

His sword puffed out of nowhere, and he held it straight in front of him, the end pointing at Reckard like a tray. Then, the feather, with obvious bits of decaying white matter breaking off it, gently laid itself on the blades center. This was it. The time to release, Reckard. The time of undeniable power, of streaming vigilance and a ferocity towards all living creatures. Almost.

"_Rainbow Divide_!!" He roared soulfully to the living darkness, carelessly inviting the stream of sparkling red prisms that suddenly appeared on the sword. It literally did reflect thousands of colors on the wall around them, beautiful steaks of light racing across the sky. But then, a single prism of the burst white sprung out of the sword's tip and latched itself to Reckard's chest, the bottom side down.

It was almost time for it, almost there before exchanging goodbyes. His stolid appearance stayed in it's stony

ughstion ed; his emtions

**Separation was inevitable. But he would never stop. Never**.

His eyes strained through the pearly glow around it,

_**REWRITE REWRITE REWRITE REWRITE REWRITE **_

It was unmistakable; it spiritually reeked of the legendary being of life, Ho-Oh. By the estimated science of Celestial studies, Ho-Oh supposedly created the three guardians. He longed to touch it, to fondle it in his tainted hands. His eyes narrowed, trying to visualize the intense energy he sensed masked within the feather's core. His eyes strained through the pearly glow, and instead of finding another powerful entity behind it, there was actually a passage of text on the ground underneath (though the feather still sensed immeasurably strong). He his eyes fought the strain of the azure haze and managed to read the bold printed text, elegant in it's handwriting.

A blessing has graced the Quarry. Whether or not out of their choosing, the Celestial's power shall forever be bound to this shrine of fantastic magic. As the weaker, lesser legends pin to the wall in acquired rank, the most everlasting of beings reside within the two spheres ahead. If a stray feather be taken out, act swift before the utmost power the feather has burns itself out from the unworthy environment, though more holy than most. Place your most desired wish on the second sphere, and raise your sacred object to draw on the legends power. Do not raise your expectations, though. The magic of the Celestials is more real and mythic than we had ever imagined. It may entrance and bewitch even the most simple of objectives, manipulating your greed and manifesting it's self in a new wish, a wish in which it escapes the Quarry's barrier and digitigrades in the unholy winds of humanity's earth. Grasp firm control of nature's elements, meld it to your hearts content, and never let it consume you.

Zexion shivered a moment at the last sentence, but continued reading despite.

After your wishes have been granted, seized, or destroyed, you must exit through out one of the twelve doors. Using the most powerful Celestial's grace, the twelve portals beyond the spheres lie, each manifesting themselves in the most worthy and strategic poets of the spiritual earth, masked by the temporary physical world. Befit your desires, and the true door you shall see with Ho-Oh's true eye. 

It created the three guardians according to assumed science.

place

room Unnoticeably

But as his eyes gazed the hazy gold clouds for clues, his next observation left him gaping.

A single, golden feather lay daintily atop the blonde light below. Crimson streaks brushed across its tips, tiny bits of red dye brushing onto the worn sky under it. _A feather? Ho-Oh? _Could it be? Could it really, truly be? He followed the small trail up and along the mural, and found a completely red soaked paragraph of thick black text. He read it solemnly, pronouncing each name with the utmost of importance.

Legends shall forever bind the construct of curiosity, amplifying their mysterious origins until it has been daring enough o be proven, or wild enough to sweep back into inexistence. But 

Yes, it had to be. Celestials were real and that was what powered

Suicune catly silkily water like lankily

REWRITE REWRITE REWRITE REWRITE REWRITE ++++++++++NOW 

But even Zexion's mild disapproval of Celestials could not ignore the awesome sight before him. It depicted three majestic creatures, each clearly employing a sacred color in their flamboyancy. They bowed nobly to the golden skies above, each on a lone pillar of limestone riddled with ivy green vines. _Red, blue and yellow._ The three colors most seen through civilian Celestial sightings. The first was an electric yellow, deep black strokes trailing brilliantly down it's flowing fur, mysterious silver twinges of metal sticking awkwardly out of it's shadowed mask. _Raikou_, he thought instantly. It matched the Department's small sect of Celestial descriptions perfectly, right down to the metal twinges. His perkily interested eyes flickered over to the next animal, a great, roaring dog-like creature, one slate colored brace around each of it's magnificently furry form, long strands of darkened hair straying over the previous metal.

a slate colored sheath around each of its ankles. Shimmering white

But even Zexion's mild disapproval of could not disregard the awesome sight the painter had conjured. It was of the single most flamboyant creatures Zexion had ever seen.

Cheu

**!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!STOP HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!STOP HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**Or not. Look below. **

Draw your strength un-guiltily from the all-forgiving Celestials.

At the end of what seemed like several minutes, a pristine, silver door appeared through the halls billowing shadows. The boy stopped his eager footsteps, smiling eagerly as he silently acknowledged the door. The Quarry was just up ahead. The inside looked almost illuminated, as if someone had entered before. _But that's preposterous_, he thought casually. National had cleared the mansion, and Nine didn't seem to be in any condition to tackle such impending terror. _But it's gone now_, he sighed peacefully. _He destroyed it. _Fortunately, a strong draft of ginger easily distracted Zexion from thinking any more of it. It smelt rich with fresh power. It was something so indescribable, only an intense ounce of ginger could compare. But whatever the smell, it was for him to ignore the slightly cracked paragraph written on the doors center, various symbols dancing around it. Zexion's next sight easily put him in awe. It was gigantic, the floor easily matching a ballroom's and it's ceiling reaching at least forty feet in the air. Pillars of fantastic heights covered the walls in the room's spiral shaped format. Next to him, great paragraphs of text were carved into their rocky ore, while straight ahead of him; twelve doors had been breached through the pillars. Everything was incredible silver, the electric yellow light bouncing off every mirrored tile, devoid of origin. He walked forward, careful not to stain the floors with his darkness tainted personage. It felt truly true here. As the bleakness of the Department was left behind, this new, platinum energy filled him with invigoration. It was unrelentingly good. The sunlight felt real. It's walls felt safe, and the door felt so far away.

**Stop here instead. **

He walked forward, and grazed his palm on the engrossing murals that engulfed several pillars within many shades of red, blue and yellow. Three birds were flying about a peachy, ginger sky. One was floating high up in the sky, surrounded by a pool of dark and rumbling clouds. It was a striking gold, it's spiked and jagged wings outlined in black for complement. Its beak was high in the air, as if commanding the vicious thunderbolts crashing down on the dirt brown island below. Another bird had been pushed back by something, almost crashing into the summoned electricity. It looked graceful even as its beating red eyes froze in shock. It's majestic, sapphire wings flowed silkily from the oncoming wind, bits of what seemed like ice shards breaking in the air around it. Its left wing, however, looked slightly stiffened as Zexion realized it was coated in an extremely azure coating of ice; easily matching it's skin.

But most shockingly of all, in the sky between the two birds, a sinister looking avian was surrounded in a whirlpool of crimson fire. This one's wings were coated in destructive embers; its piercing blue eyes coldly calculating the battle below while its beak unleashed massive strings of blaze onto the charred battlefield. It almost looked like it was enjoying the havoc below. Across from them were three jumping dogs, to Zexion's confusion. However, they looked like none of the dogs he'd seen. The first one was a bright yellow like the other, except in place of spiked wings and a grand beak, it's bore a slick hide and two cerulean bits of twine tangled behind it's skull shaped mask. Along it's sides were black lines as well, but this one seemed far less proud of them. Next to that was a fairly large lion-like being, crouched down and roaring into the skies as something viciously red came bursting out of the ground in front of it. It was drenched in long, shaggy tufts of chocolate fur, but was surprisingly white washed around the chest. By it's legs were four, iron cuffs bound tightly around its ankles. But the most miraculous quality of its form was the light blue spikes jutting out of it's back in perfect unison, unleashing an ever-continuing streak of the purest white smoke.

As majestic and ever flowing the smoke was, truly the most magnificent creature was the one watching over the battle peacefully on the branch of a large oak. It was a soothing, cerulean blue with white bubbles dotted along its side in divine luxury. But

Corporal

Next to that as an extremely furry, chocolate drenched

Long past the ages in which the ancients have acted swiftly, engaging their fury onto the humble planet of earth. Extended told Ribbons about Bubba. 

The Axis Human- 

The Quarry- Signal Room

Up in the sky between the two avians and surrounded by a whirlpool of crimson fire,

One was high up in the sky, surrounded by many dark and shadowed clouds. It was an exhilarating gold, it's spiked and jagged wings outlined in black, it's beak and rose high up to the clouds as if letting out a roar.

was an exhilarating

yellow

[Put in Zexion's recognition of the Celestials on the walls here

But there was only one reason he was here today. Reckard. He had to find him quickly—it was probably for the best if he could get this over with quickly. He withdrew from the intoxicating aroma and quickly raced ahead near the twelve doors. A small, chocolate blob was slowly coming into view as the doors got closer and closer. Eventually, he saw him laying on what seemed like a roughly etched

The sight of the Quarry suddenly put Zexion in awe

Rhodes quest to become an Archangel

Reckard becomes Archangel

Rhodes gains Ghost Cloak

Ghost

Archangel

"What happened!?" Snarled the fierce Zexion before viciously swiping at the air with a balled up fist. How did he get caught on sleeping on the ground of such pitiful guards? How did those sands and light, and slime—but an urgent thought quickly wiped away any more of such petty worries. Reckard. He looked around him clearly shedding with sweat. He wasn't here. His head burned hotly with vivid anger, his fists whipping wildly in the front of him. What in the world happened! Had he really just taken a nap in the Department like a mindless little toddler!? _Calm_, his relaxed, well organized self suggested. _Retrace your steps; do not run off with such a hothead. _The voice was right, his better judgment declared and his angrier side grudgingly subsided with a final jab to the air. Where did his ignorant, priority displaced journey begin? He remembered feeling very happy at one point. Then something dark and cruel descended on him, but it only amplified his power. After that, it seemed to isolate into thick, lavender sand. Zexion cringed in remembrance. That was when all hope was lost, like a million shivers constantly ran up his spine. But of course, he felt startlingly better as he sank into the sand and watched the aqua sake collide with a strange, far off door. Then the light came and here he was, frustrated and confused.

The happiness felt very familiar somehow. Like he had experienced it once before, such a glee he could never forget. It was very unworldly, supernatural even. He boy

But the fierce personality of his earlier self had quickly blocked the last thought from finishing. "What happened!?" He snarled angrily before viciously swiping at the air with a

balled up fist. So little Zexion decided to take a nap, huh!? Oh no, he forgot his blanket! He swiftly ground his teeth in frustration, once more jabbing his invisible troubles. Cool down, said a calm voice in the back of his head. Retrace your steps; you can handle this without any explosions. But a strong side of him despised this idea, greatly preferring a long run down the seemingly endless corridors. But his better judgment won over this side, and gave in with a final whip around.

As he sunk faster into the secretive pile, he thought he saw something glowing wildly on his chest. It was a livid blue, looking briefly like a flame ignited among deep, purple waves. It spread all across his body, and he suddenly felt very cold. He felt the sand stop, and the flames grow higher and higher on his frail, and endangered body. He heard the stark crackle of burning rocks, and a smell of heavy ginger fell the hole. But he also felt something slip away, slithering off his back like a graceful, cerulean serpent. Maybe his eyes deceived him, but he thought he saw a small hole suddenly open in the snake's path, something like a door in the center of it. It looked like it was made of brimstone, a light gray, cellar door with a large paragraph of script etched into it's front. Finally, the fire broke through. An extremely bright window of light poured in through, completely whiting out the walls around him, and destroying the remainder of sand behind him. Just as the light engulfed him, he saw the blue streak shoot forward, just escaping the blank consumption and bombard the gate with an aqua burst of color. Then, just as the white struck him, he remembered.

He was laying on his back, eagle-spread and his eyes tightly fastened. He groaned a bit as he started to feel the rough surface he had been sleeping on for so long. He gently flickered one eye open, feeling very tired and confused on what he was doing. He felt strangely anxious, like he had forgotten something drastically important. He leaned upwards and saw that he was in the middle of a spotless hall, sparkling with calm. He shifted his hands around him, vaguely trying to remember what he was expecting. Then, it all flooded back to him. He had to get through the halls! What had he been doing here, napping like a child! He needed to get him to the Quarry! He needed to get him. He jumped in shock and realized Reckard wasn't latched onto him anymore. He frantically switched his head left and right, desperately searching for any discreet clue of his departure. He couldn't lose him again! Never! He dashed forward completely unaware of what was going on and what corridor he had suddenly appeared in—he had to find him. He couldn't miss the release—they both couldn't. It seemed like very long hallway, and he felt like several minutes had passed by the time he saw the door shaped opening in the wall, strange sounds pouring out of it's billowing shadows.

What was this place? It seemed very different from the place he once walked, even if the walls retained the same cranberry design. It was indescribably clean. There was no more ominous gloom contaminating the air around him—it exuded something fresh, and unbelievable to Zexion's senses. The ginger smell around him was irritable, he

His eyes closed, and the sand finally covered the last of his sterling locks in deep waves of cranberry purple.

Reckard, the boy whom he assumed to be attached obediently to his back. Sand covered his eyes, and his temptations were cooled with the neutral reflection of the young lad's name. And without warning, he felt himself drifting from consciousness, and covered in a large mountain of purple.

To finally release him from all the scornful torment he endured inside this awful, death written wall. The light felt so warm around him, he felt like soothingly joining he stream heat into the void of endless power.

He felt something slimy and heavy slither over him as a stark, and lonely came breaking in through the sparkling vortex's circle. The mass of glooming noise seemed to be behind him, he thought. It sounded like a waterfall in slow motion, slowly engulfing his back with it's slick, enveloping liquid. It felt good, he thought as the slime continued. It slowly washed away all his worries, memories slowly wandering out of his mind. He vaguely wondered where he was, lazily trying to recollect the scattered memories. But the eager, god-like tone quickly soothed him into relaxation within the absorbing substance.

It was so nice. Things had fallen in place perfectly; he no longer had anything to despair. Life as he once knew it would be gone, and the pure veil of memory would be forever wiped away from his life. Along his relaxed, flickering eyes he spotted something like a large glob of white paint dripping from the wall. The other ooze followed, but now in sharp streaks of dark coal and gray. Before he realized it, a small ocean of white and black shades had quickly formed around his warm and fuzzy body. It grew larger and larger and larger, soon reaching up to his chest in a matter of seconds. But as it grew higher, he felt no sense of danger. He didn't care about anything right now. All he needed to do was sleep. An endless sleep, he thought with a small bit of fright, but it was easily overwhelmed by the massive reservoir of warmth inside him. Suddenly, a slight bit of ashy slime lowly drooped onto his spiky locks, and something immediately awoken him from his halfhearted slumber.

This wasn't the calming, lovely comfort pouring over his body like before. It was a chilling him right to the bone with freezing temperatures. He looked vaguely behind him and discovered it was a dark purple mesh of slowly consuming sand. He struggled to get away from it, the once comforting blobs around him also turning into awful patches of lavender dust. They seemed to bind him in place, slowly spreading over him as he scowled in fierce agony. They made hi feel things he thought were gone forever. He thought everything was fine, but this ruined it all! He saw one last streak of black fall down from the ceiling as he was effectively covered in a mound of terrible sand. He felt hopeless, slowly sinking into the same depression he felt painfully familiar with. He didn't want to empathize with that ugly, horrible creature he used to be. But as much as he struggled, nothing moved, and the sand quickly drew him into a sharp sleep.

But just as Zexion lost consciousness, so did the trickling sands above did stop motion. As if on cue, a light blue light lit itself just a the same time within the mound, and a snakelike ray of pure, electric blue slithered it's way out of it's locker chamber. Slowly, it broke through the last drip of black and quickly stroke the light cellar door behind it with a sharp cling, something like a sword slashing against a far harder surface.

Top Ten----

Bryce 1.Rhodes/National Flay

Glyph 2.Thread

Barret 3.Rex

Saulkia 4. Bryce/Mas

Janine 5.Cure

National 6.Twine

Rhodes 7. Dark

Zexion 8.Emily

Thread 9.Saulkia

Rex 10.Barret/Lik

Aura

Cure

Twine

Lik

'Consume…' If he could just be consumed, his slate cleaned of all worries. Undoubtly forgotten from the binds of hope that strung him to this mansion for so long. He smiled a bit and rleased his ate of mental blocks. A new life flooded into him. Thousands of memories filled him, and he felt like he was bein lsowly moved, backwards

talking, and it was the sword! It was trying to dominate, to control him!

How was he supposed to decipher these

that revealed a magnificent black sign written in white letters: "The Iniquitous Halls: Beware." A final release, he thought harder, closing his eyes to block out the menacing words.

_There it is, _she thought with extreme desire.

ghohjbjhkhkjjjgjghjhi

up his arm, through his He clutched his fists and clenched harder and harder with each pulsing, horrible tho

Gygygygygygygyg Dnomaid Latsyrc Latsyrc Shoko Dnomaid Latsyrc

--

He was too excited about the Quarry than what Reckard was goin He knew that just about one corridor away, he would see the sleeping body of Reckard. Every step made him sick

Pillar IIXV: Disaster Shot

Pillar IXV:

Stand

I Chancellour National

The Iniquitous Halls wouldn't attack of there own accord. National was the only one to do that, and he was with me. An intruder came to mind, and his eyes began to grow wider. Flickering shots of a golden helmet sitting upon a mirror surface and a rich smell of incense flooded his mind. Quick bursts of pain pulsed through his lobe and he grabbed his head in receding terror. Nine left him there. 'She left him!!!', he thought painfully. He turned around with a ferocious scowl towards the vanishing streak of orange slowly dissipating into night. He turned into a frown and started walking slowly towards Reckard's whereabouts. He was a crying baby blaming everything on other people when it all came down to him. He felt the warm handle of the Memory Sword, and he looked down at it in anguish. Without warning, he threw it over at the wall with all his strength and it vanished inside a cloud of purple smoke.

He hadn't realized at the time, but the sword had actually been summoned unknowingly through his massive regret. He sulked forward and pain cooled down like water poring over on a hot sheet of metal.

The Iniquitous Halls? No, national would never be that naïve to let it wander the mansion. Maybe it was an intruder. Someone coming after Reckard, no doubt. A rush of memory's flooded his mind as flashes of a golden helmet and the smell of rich incense infested his mind, and he gripped his head in terror. Sharp bursts of pain pulsed through his head with each thought, and he felt himself overriding with a sudden anger. "Nine!!" He yelled vigorously into the air as he jogged quickly towards the slowly bobbing streak of orange. _She_ forgot him! _She_ left him there! How dare she allow-! But a

National Lanoitan

Lan Ienzo Reckard Rhodes Silver Annette Wes

National

Her fierce, orane ribbons acted like a scarf up to her neck, dark brown locks covering up a pair of scintillating light purple eyes. Thoughts raced trugh her skull as


End file.
